


Little White Lie

by NegansOtherWife



Category: The Walking Dead (Comics), The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Crude Wording, F/M, Horniness, Humor, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-03-20 08:26:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 33,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13713804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NegansOtherWife/pseuds/NegansOtherWife
Summary: You want Simon, but find yourself caught in a little white lie.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: I wrote the entirety of this chapter in my Theology class. 
> 
> I'm going to hell, for sure.

“In the middle of the road,” You assert.

“Hmm.”

“On top of a tree.”

“That’s a new one.”

“On a fucking dumpster,” It’s impractical but appealing.

“You’re bound to catch something that way.”

“God, the things I want to do to him.” Your mouth waters as you take in the view. Simon under the hood of a broken down vehicle. It’s straight out of one of your dirtiest fantasies. All he’s missing is a tool belt... and your legs around his waist. Taking note of the way his jeans sag on his trim hips, you lean forward hoping to decipher the color of the band of his underwear. The car line had officially come to a halt, as the RV carrying most of the supplies from The Savior’s latest run had taken what seemed to be its last breath. “I’d fuck Simon anywhere.”

“Give me a break,” Arat snorts from beside you. Both of you are perched on the hood of a neighboring Jeep, and as the Sun continues to swelter, the universe throws you a bone. 

“Fuck,” You groan quietly, leaning forward as he sheds another layer. You send a silent prayer to whatever god is listening, begging for a couple degrees more worth of heat. You’re pretty sure he’s down to his last layer. 

“Did you just cum?”

“Yeah, you wish.” You tease her, but in all honesty, you’re close. There was something about Simon, _something_. That drove you absolutely insane and deliriously horny. “You know what, Arat? Tonights the night, I’m going to march up to his room with a bottle of whiskey— he’s more of a whiskey guy, I think— and demand for him to fuck my brains out.”

The images play behind your eyes. Your wet mouth slowing enveloping his length. Begging him to fuck you as your lips trail across his broad chest, peppering the surface with kisses. Simon’s thick cock buried inside you, pounding away at your sex as your body greedily welcomes the intrusion.

Over and over, again.

You can practically feel the burn of his mustache between your thighs already.

“Just one small problem,” You hum distractedly. Under the guise of volunteering to be the lookout, you’d been handed a pair of binoculars, which were _definitely_ coming in handy at the moment. 

At the back of your mind, you hope that you’re not being too obvious. But _fuckkkk_ — the moment you'd caught sight of his muscled frame from the corner of your eye, you were a goner.

“You’re an apparent lesbian in what Negan refers to as, what was it,” She pretends to ponder the term for a moment, although the entirety of the factory could recite it word for word, “a loving, fuck hot ‘pussy-grinding’ relationship.” Her fingers come up to emphasis ‘pussy-grinding’. 

Oh yeah, _that_.

Shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it heating up in here, or is it just me?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys! I finally gave in, my perverted mind couldn't take skulking around in the background any longer! I made a Tumblr! You should totally come follow me and chat because I'm so curious about all of you.
> 
> Okay, mwah. x
> 
> My Tumblr: https://negansaysyouearnwhatyoutake.tumblr.com

“I don’t want to be a lesbian anymore,” You whine pitifully. “I want Simon to stick it in my ass.”

Arat guffaws from beside you, “Have you no shame?”

“None,” You snipe. “Nada. _Zilch_.”

“It’s showing,” She remarks dryly.

“If he wanted to,” You finally pull your gaze away from Simon’s ass to address Arat. “Look at me, hun.” You grab both sides of her face and lean in, making sure that you have every ounce of her attention. “I would let him slap me across the face with,” You divert slightly from your original narrative, “and there is not a doubt in my mind when I say this," You take a deep breathe, "his impressive cock.” 

“Afterwards _,_ I’d _gladly_ bow down and say thank you.” You add as an afterthought because there wasn’t a thing you’d say ‘no’ to if Simon asked for it.

You both take a moment to let that sink in.

“Whoah! Just what I need to lift my spirits from this shitty situation, a little _les-bo_ action.” Arat is probably the only person who can get away with flicking Negan off, but what can you say? Your pseudo girlfriend kicks ass, and she’s deeply treasured. 

Although, you pull away when Simon turns to observe the so-called ‘les-bo’ action. Hell, every single man in your vicinity snaps to attention. You grumble underneath your breath a bit, _typical_ males.

“Gotta say, doll.” Negan steps out of the RV and moves in your direction. He saunters over with a whistle, swinging Lucille leisurely as he goes. 

“It is a _tragedy_ of utmost fucked up proportions,” When he’s within arms distance, he places a hand mockingly on the place where his heart should be, and shoots you a mega-watt smile, “that one of the most fuck-hot women that I’ve ever seen is into carpet munching. But fucking _fuck_ , doll.  I can’t blame you. Bet you’ve seen my hot wives, diddled yourself to thoughts of ‘em?” Negan practically licks his lips with glee.

“Yeah,” You nod, not even bothering to lay it on thick. “Pussy’s are nice— pink, too.” Arat nudges you— _hard—_ and in the rib.

Negan’s all-seeing eyes take note of this, and he furrows his brow, “Lover’s quarrel?”

“We don’t kiss and tell,” If anyone else had taken that tone with Negan they’d be dead in a ditch somewhere, but for a history, that had yet to be disclosed to you, he simply laughs at Arat’s response. 

“Come on, just a little," He places Lucille between the two of you, before propping his head on his folded arms teasingly, “for dear old Negan. We’ve got time after all.” He indicates, motioning in Simon’s direction. It’s too bad that his big head is partially obscuring your view.

“Well, okay.” You agree. This had actually become one of your favorite parts of this whole charade. As you’d taken to reciting snippets of trashy erotic lesbian novels you’d found on runs to curb Negan’s advances. 

“Last night coming back from Hilltop,” Negan’s eye’s widen as he hangs onto your every word, its almost as if he doesn’t have five wives readily at his disposable. You soldier on, nonetheless. “I’d barely been able to control myself watching Arat. The way sweat dripped from her bouncing bosom on the car ride way home. I wanted to bite into her supple skin, taste the salt at the nape of her neck. It was maddening, just the thought of her curves pressed against mine began to consume my every thought. So I gave in.” 

Negan drags in a shuddering breathe, as you continue, “I leaned forward and ran my tongue along her collarbone. She tried to bat me away, but I persisted. I cupped her right breast taking it into my palm, and as I savored the weight of it, I couldn’t help but imagine what her pussy would taste like later…”

“Fuck,” Negan groans, leaning back to scrub his face with his palm. “Doll, you have me hard as a fucking rock. I need to start riding with the two of you.”

You’re tempted to step forward and bow.

Arat leans forward from her reclined position, and from a quick glance you can tell she’s pissed, “Keep it in your pants, Negan, and quit drooling over my fucking girlfriend.”

He moves back, allowing her to hop off from her perch, “I can’t help it, Rat. I really hate to fucking lose, but at least it’s to my left hand. All this talk of pussy licking makes me want to get back to my _goddamn_ wives.” He barks to no-one in particular. 

You sympathize with him, all _you_ want to do is suck Simon off. But alas, people in hell want ice water. You can’t always get what you want. Everything was so simple for Negan, and you envied that immensely. Arat was his left hand, and Simon was his right. Speaking of which.

“Pussy licking, huh?” You try not to squirm as Simon’s dark eyes drink in your appearance. You're tempted to lean forward and give him a peek down your top. “My favorite.” You practically melt, if only he’d lick yours. The sensation of his mustache would leave something akin to whiskey burns, you’re sure. 

“Boss, we got her working.” Your eyes greedily devour his profile as he turns to address Negan. 

You silently thank Negan for being the horniest motherfucker under the stars— second only to you, really— as he’s the reason Simon is this close. 

Within licking distance. 

“Great! Fucking amazing work, Simon,” Negan always gives props where it's due, you’ll give him that much credit. 

He turns to Arat, who’d been idling nearby, “Tell the rest of those fuckers to stop playing with their dicks, and let's roll out.” He picks up Lucille, swinging her in an arch where she comes to rest on his shoulder, and with a whistling tune, you’re left alone with Simon.

“Nice work,” You blurt out after a bout of awkward silence. You’re not sure why he’s still standing before you. He kicks the rocks under his boot, before gazing up at you through his lashes. Your mind immediately goes south, as you picture the way he’d look between your legs. Like that, exactly like that. “I’ve always wanted to learn how to fix cars. It’d be pretty fucking useful these days, huh?” 

Lie, lie, lie. You fucking hate cars.

Finally, he shrugs, and you follow the movement as his wet tongue peeks out to slowly drag along his bottom lip, “I can teach you if you want, maybe you’ll impress Arat with your knowledge.”

“It’s a date,” You agree eagerly, the latter of his words barely registering with you. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I might have broken a record for how many times I used the word 'fuck'. Oh well. 
> 
> Come find me on Tumblr, we should totally be friends. 
> 
> My Tumblr: https://negansaysyouearnwhatyoutake.tumblr.com

“I can’t _fucking_ believe you!” 

“I’m sorry,” You plead. Although if she wasn’t receptive to the fifth time you’d apologized, you’re not sure why you insisted upon trying again. 

“Do you know what would happen if Negan found out that you’ve been lying this whole time,” You look down sheepishly, knowing that she’s right.  “That I’ve been lying to him— _me_ , Y/N.”

“He’d feed you to the biters and make me a sister wife?” It’s not the answer she’s looking for and you swiftly dodge a shoe that goes flying toward your head.

“Arat, I’m fucking sorry. Okay?” You stand aside while she paces the width of your shared room. You don’t like fighting and seeing your best friend so distraught makes your stomach twist uncomfortably. “I won’t do it again,” You insist, “It’s just that Negan is so easy to fuck with.”

She snorts, “You wouldn’t say that if he found out you actually _do_ prefer dick.”

“Excuse the shit out of my _goddamn_ french, doll. But do you mean to tell me you _don’t_ diddle yourself to thoughts of my wives?” You puff your chest out and mimic Negan’s blunt twang, gaining a small smile from Arat in the process.

“Listen,” You begin getting serious, although it’s something you _hate_ to do. “I’ll forever be grateful for you becoming my fake-girlfriend and saving me from Negan’s advances. _Promise_ I won’t do anything stupid.”

“I don’t believe you, Y/N.” She’s dubious. But she accepts your apology so that’s good enough for you. 

“Great! Fucking amazing,” You clap your hands together itching to go to dinner and steal small peaks of Simon from across the room. “Can we go eat now?”

Arat grunts, but agrees nonetheless, grumbling underneath her breath as she passes you, “Fine, but stop talking like that. It’s fucking creepy.”

What can you say? Your “Negan” is spot on.

Later that night you can’t sleep, the room is stifling and the small fan in the corner of your room is too noisy. Slipping out from the bed, you quietly toe on your boots and glide past a snoring Arat before you’re out the door. While there’s nothing in particular that you want to do, you find yourself heading towards the direction of the kitchen. 

Old habits, die hard. You’d always been a midnight eater and the sorbet they’d served at dinner had been fucking delicious. You silently pray that there’s some leftover in the freezer.

“Mother- _fucking_ -fuck,” The explicit falls from your lips as you clutch the knee you’d knocked on one of the cabinets before feeling around for a light switch. The room is quite large and only several lights flicker on leaving you to feel your way over to the freezers. Lucky for you, you spot the leftovers fairly quickly, and after searching for a spoon—you dig in.

Hums of pleasure echo across the spacious room as you eat the sweet treat. You might not get Simon but this sorbet was a great consolation prize. The kitchen staff had made several flavors using the fresh fruit from the Sanctuary’s garden and digging into the strawberry flavor, you recognize the rarity of such a feast. Tonguing the spoon thoughtfully, you ponder what Simon could possibly be up to. Sadly, you’ll never get to know. With Arat officially on edge—and all joking aside—it was best that you laid off your Simon fixation. 

“Good?” You drop your spoon as Simon steps out of the shadows, holding an identical container in his hands. 

“Fuck _me_ , Simon!” You clutch your heart feeling the way it thunders in your chest. But not from being snuck up on—no, this was from pure anticipation. How had your body subconsciously willed you to the kitchen the same time as Simon? This was a sign or better yet, divine intervention, and you were going to take full advantage of it. Arat be damned. 

“You scared the shit out of me,” You lick your lips, tasting the sweetness of the strawberries on your tongue, and you’re highly mindful of the fact that he follows the movement. Your inner goddess purrs before urging you to continue. _He’s ours_ , she chants.

You’re inclined to agree, and as he saunters around the counter to come closer, the heaviness of your breathing fills the room as he becomes within grasping distance. 

“Mind if I keep you company?” 

Was he kidding?

You nod mutely and he pulls up a stool. You take the counter, making it so that he’s eye level with your nipples that are protruding from underneath the thin fabric of your shirt. The simple tank top and legging combo was your standard uniform of dress due to the fact that at any moment you could be called in for an assignment. It wasn’t lingerie or even borderline attractive, but you’d surely make do. 

“Rough night?” You finally ask him as you both return to eating from your respective dishes. You note the way some of the blueberry sorbet gets caught in his mustache and take a mental picture for later.

“The roughest,” He comments.

Oh, you had no doubt that he’d be rough with you. Visions of him bending you over this very counter, play like a movie behind your eyes as you watch him eat. The thought of him filling you roughly to the hilt—nudging your feet apart so that he could burrow deeper within you—makes your core clench.

“You got strawberry?” He grumbles after a moment. “I was looking for that one.”

“I’ll trade you for it,” The dirty retorts on the tip of your tongue are held back by what little common decency you have left. “What’ll you give me for it?” You can’t resist teasing him and you wonder if you should just take the plunge.

“What do you want me to do?” It’s too fucking late and way past the point of return, you decide. His dark eyes fall to your chest observing the way it softly rises with your breathing. The way you don't make a move to cover up your aroused breasts.

“Me,” You assert. Although you expected it to sound slightly more confident when you said it out loud, it seems to have the desired effect. 

Fuck, that was easy. His large hands travel the length of your back as he kicks his stool back, coming to cup your ass. Making it easier on the both of you, you hitch first one leg, then the other around his waist pulling him closer as you return his affection in kind. 

His mouth moves eagerly against yours, as he lavishes your tongue with his, moving in an impassioned rhythm before pulling away—leaving you gasping in need. He rests taking in the way your lips are slightly parted as they pull in quiets puffs of air. His gaze lingers on the thin straps of your vest that hang precariously from your heaving shoulders.

“Simon,” You hardly recognize the needy whine that escapes you, but it’s enough to pull him from his stupor. “ _Ah_ , god.”

“What do you want, Y/N?” He cups your breasts through the tank top, before teasing the tips to a renewed hardness. “Tell me, honey. Do you want me to suck these sweet nipples into my mouth? You’ve been teasing me, haven’t you?” He plucks one, considering.

“Or do you want me _here_ ,” He cups you through your thin leggings, and you pant his name as he makes the decision for you. First baring your breasts to the room before a rush of cool air hits your sex. You’re exposed—so deliciously vulnerable and Simon soaks in the sight of you, raunchily spread out on the cool kitchen counter where The Sanctuary’s meals are prepared. 

His fingers waste no time, slowly circling your entrance. Your back arcs as he takes one nipple in a sucking kiss, tonguing the bud. His weight is heavy and warm against yours and he soaks in the feeling of your smaller body pressed against his as liquid heat pours from your center thickly coating his fingers.

“Oh, Simon! Please, please!” You whimper. Firmly rubbing your clit in slow confident circles, waves of ecstasy roll through you. He begs you to be quite, nipping the area behind your ear before brazenly sucking the skin into his mouth. The feeling of his mustache against your sensitive skin stretches the knot in the pit of your tummy—tighter and _tighter_.

“I’m not gonna fuck you until you explain this to me,” He adds another finger, the rhythm creating a squelching sound in the empty room. Your toes clench in anticipation, the strings of your orgasm pulling taught before you cry out releasing on to his fingers and the countertop.

He covers your mouth with his, swallowing your moans of ecstasy as you writhe against him. The steady thrum of his thick fingers inside you, serve as a wonderful substitute, as the walls of your core clench around his fingers—milking them. “That’s it, baby. Ride my fingers,” Turning his head into your breasts he suckles the skin there before finally letting go with a pop.

“That was fucking amazing,” You comment, as you sag forward, inhaling his unique scent. His essence consists of tobacco and cinnamon which mingles with the sweetness of sorbet on both of your breaths. You’d yet to move but this was a pretty good spot to settle down—for the rest of your life, really.

You watch Simon carefully study his fingers which are sticky with your release. Pulling one then another into his mouth he cleans the digits, making an exaggerated popping sound when he’s done before smirking, “Fucking delicious. My new favorite flavor.”

You reach for his mouth desperate for a taste, fists already grasped tightly in the soft fabric of his t-shirt. Fuck, not that’d you got a taste, there was no way you were ever giving this up. 

“What do you want, honey?” You purr in contemplation as his hands travel the expanse of your bare back, dragging his nails across the skin causing you to shiver.

Isn’t that a question for the ages?

“I wa—” You both freeze listening to the sound of Negan’s whistling approaching, the sound is faint but you both lock eyes before frantically separating. 

“Fuck!” You have to give Simon credit where it’s due as he helps you hike up your pants while simultaneously readjusting your shirt before he turns to adjust himself in his jeans. There’s no way either of you can exit the kitchen now without raising Negan’s suspicion and you tell Simon as much. “What are we gonna fucking do?”

“Let’s just play it fucking cool.” He answers. You stay on the countertop hoping that it seems nonchalant and Simon pushes the stool several feet away from you before taking a seat. You both grab your sorbet although it's melted and in your haste, you realize you have Simons. If you weren’t about to be caught in your lie, you’d take the moment to savor this moment. You're first date, you think dreamily.

“What are you fuckers doing in here?” Negan steps into the kitchen and you try your hardest to school your features. You know? Pretend as if you hadn’t been riding Simon’s fingers only minutes before. “Throwing a little shindig without me?”

Simon holds up his container as a way of explanation and you shove several spoonfuls of sorbet into your mouth until your cheeks bulge. Can’t talk with your mouth full—that’s just fucking rude. You watch Negan rub his beard, considering what he just walked in on. You can practically see the way his mind goes into overdrive processing the scene before him. 

Finally, he smiles and you breathe a sigh of relief. “I came for some fucking food,” He comments. “What’s the point of having five wives if not one them will walk their ass down to the kitchen for yah?” 

“I’ll get it for you,” You volunteer, anything to get away from this hot mess of a situation. You quickly peruse one of the commercial fridges before heating up some spaghetti and several rolls. You slap some butter on the bread and slide the plate towards Negan. 

“Thank you, doll.” He groans appreciably as he stabs at the noodles. Chancing a hasty look at Simon, you lock eyes before looking away.

“Fucking sit, Y/N.” Negan pats the space beside him and you hop up onto the counter. Simon places himself directly across from Negan, and you both sit in taciturnity. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Of all the people to walk in and spoil your plans of passionately fucking  Simon—it just had to be Negan? 

“So,” He sizes you both up, "have any good pussy lately?”

Oh, Jesus— _motherfucking—_ Christ.

Simon coughs into his hand and you lend him the side-eye because actually, that's a damn good question. Negan chortles, “Oh, Simon. I know that look— _dish_.”

So what—? We’re just going to sit around the campfire and indulge Negan in his carnal desires _—_ and because you’re a “lesbian” you had somehow gained access to their super secret boy's club. You scoff, how sexist.

You find yourself leaning in any way. 

“Does she have nice tits?” You find yourself asking after a beat, and Negan makes an expression as to say ‘good question’.

Simon licks his lips considering your question. You’re playing with fire, truly. 

“The sweetest,” He answers and your reaction is instantaneous. The heat blossoms in your belly, held at bay by Negan’s sharp eyes. 

“Does she have a nice pussy? Yah fingered her yet—stroked her moist kitty?” He nudges you, “My wives love it when I talk like that, gets ‘em pretty wet.”

Duly noted.

“The softest,” He answers in a gruff voice. “Like fucking silk. I could finger her all night, cradled between her soft thighs and die fucking peacefully.”

You swallow the spit pooling in your mouth.

Negan lets loose a low whistle, “Seems like you’ve got yourself a keeper, man!”

“It seems like I do,” He finally agrees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amount of times 'Fuck' was used in this chapter: 32


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! Finally a new chapter! College has been rough, but I'm hanging in there. Also, thank you for all the wonderful reviews, they keep me smiling long after I've gone to sleep.
> 
> My Tumblr: https://negansaysyouearnwhatyoutake.tumblr.com

There’s something to be said about going to bed right after having an orgasm. You wish you could look it up and prove your theory. Something about endorphins, maybe? You try to recall all the Cosmopolitan articles you’d read before the world self-destructed, but it's hopeless. 

Either way, when your alarm blares at four in the morning, you spring from your bed, eagerly slipping on your clothes in a haste to start the day—to see Simon.

“Where’s the fucking fire?” Arat calls groggily from her reclined position. You’d always been slow to rise so you’re not exactly surprised when she gives you a bewildered look. Despite the mind-blowing experience you’d had with Simon last night, a small amount of guilt rises in your throat when you consider what Arat’s reaction will be when you tell her you’d essentially broken your promise.

“No fire,” Except maybe the one in hell, where you’ll essentially be going if  Negan finds out about your romp with Simon last night, and kills you.

She slips from the bed throwing on her clothes as you lace up your boots. The both of you get ready in residual silence before making your way to the kitchen. It’s slightly hectic as the kitchen staff on morning duty hand out homemade granola bars and fruit. 

“You alright? You look flushed,” Arat comments. You can barely take your eyes off the spot where you and Simon had been last night. 

Simon waltzes into the room then, barely making eye contact, as he brushes past you. You’ll be honest. Besides the flimsy promise he’d given you last night regarding a chance to explain yourself, that was the only hint at a continued relationship. It was a little disheartening and you internally curse Negan and his love of spaghetti. He'd stayed in the kitchen for not only a second but third helping before you decided to call it a night. 

Simon's dick would just have to wait. 

“What? No thirsty ass comment,” She cups your forehead in mock concern, “are you sick?”

Oh, you're sick alright. 

But you swat her hands away nonetheless and the both of you head to The Sanctuary’s front gate, breakfast in hand, where the rest of the Saviors are loading up the vehicles and checking their assigned weaponry.

“Why so many supplies?” There are twice as many vehicles then there usually are for a run and the top of Negan’s RV is bulging with supplies.

“I’ll go find out,” Arat mumbles, and thinking nothing of it, you head towards her Jeep to settle in for the ride. You take your time going through your personal checklist, making sure you’re weapons are in order, a spare change of clothes is present, and the tent is packed away in the back.

“Y/N,” You peek over your shoulder and spare a glance at Arat who’d taken shorter then you expected. “You’re not with me today.”

“Why the fuck not?” Your mouth drops. No one knew you like Arat did, the both of you always had each other's back. 

“Negan wants Lauren to shadow me for the trip,” Lauren was the new girl who a couple of men had stumbled across on a scouting mission. She was, _okay_. If you were being honest. The minute she’d met you, she hated your guts, and that was fucking saying something because you were as cordial as they came. “The scouting team came back—said there’s a large warehouse 80 miles out, we’ll be gone for at least two days.”

“So, where the fuck am I supposed to sit,” You scoff after doing the mental math—two seats and three bodies. “The roof?” The back seat of the Jeep is overflowing with empty industrial sized containers. Regardless of her answer, you grab your bags and head towards the rest of the vehicles in the convoy. _Maybe there’s an extra seat somewhere_. Your tone is doubtful, however, and you hate the idea of spending the next several hours in the bed of one of the trucks. 

As you expected your search is fruitless.

“Fuckers, each and every one of you!” You call towards the fourth vehicle, that is yet again, packed to the brim. 

“Have fun with Negan.” One of them calls from behind you and the whole car erupts in laughter. You throw them the bird but on the inside, you’re scrambling. You’re running out of options. No way did you want to spend the next several hours locked in a moving car with Negan. Ironically—or not so ironically—the RV always had seats open. 

“Problem, Y/N?”  You jump as Simon’s voice invades your panic induced thoughts. 

“Oh, fuck! It’s just you… _wait_ , tell me you have room in your truck,” You’re so panicked that you barely have the head space to notice the way his flanneled shirt stretches across the expanse of his broad chest and the way his sleeves are rolled up partially showcasing his tattoos— _barely_ , just barely. 

“I’ve got space,” He mumbles after a minute and you notice that he’s hesitant, his eyes flitting across your features before dancing to other objects of focus. “Do you think it’s a good idea? Won’t Arat get suspicious or...?” He idles. His dark eyes finally meet yours. 

“Why the fuck would she— _oh_!” You purse your lips in consideration before deciding—like just about everything in life, according to your _probably_ deceased dead-beat mother—to stall a little bit. “She’ll be fine,” You reply eagerly, now heading in the direction of his car. 

Your mood drastically lifts as you weigh your newly found fortune. Someone must be looking out for you _somewhere_ , as you’ll have the next several hours alone with Simon—uninterrupted. Your mind goes absolutely rampant with possibilities. 

Sliding into the cab of his truck you take a moment to soak in the atmosphere. He’s neater then you thought, which in your opinion, is always a good sign. The lingering redolence of tobacco is the only indication that he smokes.

Such a self-destructive habit, but with the dead roaming and the threat of constant death hanging over your head, you figured it could be excused this once. 

“Ready to go?” Simon clambers into the driver's side and the sound of the door closing brings about a sense of finality in the air. 

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” He spares you a glance before speeding out the front gate. Negan’s RV leads the lineup, and Simon’s the runner-up with several other vehicles running behind. 

The silence in the cab is somewhat tense but completely one-sided as he’s barely uttered a word. Seeing that his fingers were inside you last night, you figure you'd at least get a ‘how've you been,’ or another orgasm. You’re okay with whichever comes first

You attempt to forge the gap by asking, “You okay, Simon?”

Counting the seconds it takes him to respond, you stare out the window noting how delayed the car behind you is.

Twenty-three. 

“You know what—? I’m not o- _fucking-_ kay,” He snaps after a while. “Last night shouldn’t have fucking happened!”

“Oh- _fucking_ -really?”

“Yeah, Y/N.” He retorts. “Fucking _really_!”

Huh, he wants to play that card? Well, there's no way you're letting him off that easily, not after finally getting a chance to feel what he’s packing under those impressive jeans. Intent on showing him the error of his fucking ways—and the bomb-ass pussy he’d inevitably be missing out on—you open your mouth to speak but are once again interrupted.

“And what—pray tell—exactly are you, Y/N? Was this just a one-off type of thing, were you experimenting? Or have you done that before?” At your question, he specifies. “Fuck around on Arat. _Fuck—!_ I can’t believe I fucked her girlfriend…”

"You haven't fucked me," You correct. 

Yet.

You sit back and watch as he carries on mumbling to himself. He’s so cute when his conscience is internally chipping away at his sanity. The thought makes a very large grin appear on your face. You’ll both get along swimmingly.

“What the fuck are you grinning about?” His grouchiness breaks your internal reverie and you figure it’s best to clue him in. 

“I’m just trying to figure out what position we’ll fuck in first,” At his exasperation, you clarify, “I’m not a lesbian, Simon.” You scoot forward an inch as his face runs through a range of emotions.

“Negan,” He guesses, and you slid a little closer so that the gap between you two shrinks. 

“Yeah,” You scoff. “I am _not_ sister wife material.”

“So you and Arat have—what the fuck!” Your fingers pause from their place over his jean-covered crotch, before deciding ‘fuck it’ and giving another firm caress.

“Sorry, you were saying?” You had manners, that much could be assumed.

“What if I fucking crash?” He pants in protest. Although, his hips lift slightly when you pull the waistband of his jeans down to his thighs.

“Death by dick.” And _oh_ , what a way to go. 

The dick in question, makes you let out a slight whimper, as you take in all in. 

Every. Single. Detail.

The size, holy fuck, that thing could do some serious damage. Your eyes trace a prominent vein on the underside of his cock that stems from the base leading all the way up to the thick beading head. 

“Where the fuck have you been hiding this thing?"

“Thanks, honey.” The knuckles of his hand have gone a ghastly shade of white as they remain fastened to the steering wheel. What a shame. You would’ve loved for him to have been fully emerged at this moment with you. “You sure know how to stroke a mans ego.”

Oh, you were gonna do more than stroke it. Hallelujah, dreams really do come true. 

The skin of his head is like satin as you taste the beading pre-cum, before slowly enveloping the rest of him with your wet mouth. The sound of Simon’s encouragement spurs you on as you begin to bob your head, inhaling the musky scent of him as your nose brushes the thatch of wiry curls at the base. You want to consume him. 

“Y/N, honey. I’ve got to fucking touch you,” He gradually takes his right hand off the wheel, laying it so that it rests against the back of your head. “You like sucking my cock?”

The throbbing between your legs increases, as your eyes practically roll to the back of your head at his question. Humming in response his hips lift just a fraction taking you off guard. You gag a little and the grip he has on your hair tightens. Taking the hint you renew your efforts, hollowing your cheeks for a moment, before taking him down your throat.

“Your mouth, baby,” The hand on your head applies a little bit more pressure before gradually moving you up and down his length. With a groan, you realize that he’s fucking your mouth. You’ve never wanted anything more than to taste his release and watch him unravel before you. You lift off slightly, tonguing the head as you jack him onto your tongue.

“ _Fuck_ , Y/N…” With a stuttering groan, he releases down your throat, the insistent pressure on the back of your head a warning. “ _Uh_ , swallow it all, honey.”

Fucking try and stop me, you think, greedily swallowing his essence.

When he releases you, you catch your breath, tucking him back into his jeans before resting your head on his thigh. He fiddles with the radio so the soft strums of a guitar play smoothly in the background and you spend the rest of the drive in a compatible silence. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amount of times 'Fuck' was used in this chapter: 27


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Tumblr: https://negansaysyouearnwhatyoutake.tumblr.com

“Simon, pull around the east entrance. We’ll work this shit careful and precise,” Negan’s brutish voice comes barking through the two-way and you righten yourself from your reclined position with a heaving sigh.

“Duty calls,” His voice is sullen and the thought brings a small bit of warmth into the pit of your belly. He’d enjoyed the quiet ride as much as you had. Picking up the device, he answers, “Got it. Me and Y/N, are gonna work it slowly. Scout the biters.” He waits for the affirmative before signing off. 

“Y/N and I,” You can’t help but correct. Society’s dead, but that doesn’t mean grammar has to go with it. 

“You’re lucky you’re cute, honey.” He doesn’t miss a beat, placing a swift kiss to the corner of your mouth. He exits the truck, and you follow suit. 

“Why do you call me, _honey_?” You’re not complaining, just curious. 

“Cause your tits are sweet.” Well, in that case, you might as well call him ‘sugar dick’. You lick your lips at the thought. Man, oh man. Arat’s gonna catch a serious shit case when you tell her what you’ve been up to. Still, she’s your best friend, this can’t come as a shock to her.

Rattling the fence, you both listen for approaching biters, but there aren’t any. You comment on the oddity, taking a pair of wire cutters and expertly creating a sizable hole for the both of you to slip through. 

“You’re really good at that,” He comments, eyeing the small tool belt you’d slipped around your waist.

“My father owned a construction company. I grew up around tools,” You answer simply. This wasn’t the time to drudge up the past. 

“Simon, whatd’ya see? Give me some good- _fucking_ -news, we’ve got our dicks hanging out here,” Negan’s staticky voice comes from the walkie strapped to Simon’s hip. 

“We’re clear, nothing on the outskirts. Y/N made a hole in the fence, eighteen paces down.” He clicks off. “I think I’m starting to get why you lied,” He sarcastically remarks after a moment.

You can’t help but agree, saying, “I can’t imagine that he ever shuts up. Now put the two of us together and it’s a recipe for disaster.” 

Expertly picking the lock to the back door, Simon steps forward, weapon poised at the ready. 

“You know, I never intended to lie for this long,” You do the same, taking his six, as the both of you creep deeper into the warehouse. He hums inquisitively, and you take that as your cue to continue. “The day you guys found me…” 

He interrupts. “We were scavenging a junkyard,” You’re surprised that he remembers, it’d been so long ago. 

“Right,” You continue. “I’d been living there by myself since it started, and I had an electric fence around the permitter. You guys walked right into it.” You can’t help but snigger a little.

“Negan was fucking heated, he would’ve bashed your skull in right there if it wasn’t for those shorts you were wearing.” He gives you a pointed look. 

Responding with a cheeky grin in kind, you tease, “I still have them.” 

Ah, Daisy, you’re signature daisy dukes. She’d been a key staple in your wardrobe, once upon a time, helping you pull in loads of free drinks at the local dive bar. You make a silent promise to break them out for Simon sometime. 

“And for the record, I had several other baited traps. I could’ve easily let you all in, and taken you out, one by one,” You recall the electrical bear traps you’d rigged up, as well as the pits you’d dug. But you’re thankful that you’d reconsidered handing them their asses on a silver platter.

And what a fine ass indeed. You’d take full responsibility for any kind of mistake from this point onward, as the subtle sway of Simon’s hips in his Levi’s, were quickly on their way to becoming your greatest distraction.

“What stopped you?”

“Arat,” You recollect softly, “she stepped out from behind Negan, and… I don’t know. She asked if I was okay. No one had asked me that in so long.” A stray tear escapes, causing you to wipe it away furiously. You _hate_ being serious. More than anything. 

It was easy to see why Negan had mistaken the exchange for love at first sight—because it had been—Arat had been your closest confidant from that moment on. 

“I noticed you that day,” His quiet admission makes your head swim as you consider, for the first time since you’d fixed your sights on Simon, the possibility of more. “Look at that, hun. What do you think it says?”

**The McC__rm__ Com__y**

“M’not sure.” Silently deliberating on the faded sign above your head, the two of you decide to split up. You make your way around one side of an industrial shelf to survey the closed boxes and Simon takes the other. 

“So what are you doing tonight?” His voice floats towards you and knowing that he can’t see you, your features morph into a coy smile. 

 _Hopefully you_ , the witty comment is poised on the tip of your tongue, but you restrain yourself. After all, you’re no hussy. He’d have to buy you dinner first, you tell him as much.

“Dinner, really? Maybe we can get the two for twenty at Chili's,” His outer musings are drowned out by the sound of footsteps. The rest of the Saviors have found their way into the warehouse. Lifting your box cutter from your tool belt, you make a small incision and peer in, attempting to look like you’ve been diligently at work this whole time.

“Alright,” The group of Saviors slowly part as Negan comes strutting through. “What’da we got, doll?”

“Something tiny and— _ow_ —hard.” Your knuckles knock against a blunt object. Reaching further into the hole you’ve made, you pull out a container of seasoning. 

You might as well have struck gold. 

“No fucking way,” You toss one to Negan before reaching in to grab another. “McCormick fucking seasoning, it’s been too goddamn long.”

You can’t help but return his grin. It wasn’t like the food in the kitchen was bad, per say. But it sure as shit was about to get a whole lot better.

“Holy fuck! I never thought I’d taste anything spicy, again.” Simon’s voice reverberates from somewhere else in the factory as Negan begins barking out a series of orders. There’s probably a shit-ton of non-perishable products around here, and you tell him such, putting away your knife, and sidestepping Dwight and Lauren as they reach towards the shelf you'd been standing near. “We got instant packets and— _holy shit_ —cake mix, folks!”

You can’t help but join in the collective cry of joy, hugging Arat, when she makes her way over. There’s nothing more euphoric than a successful scavenge.  

“Got anything in that little tool belt of yours that would get the lights working, doll?”

“On it, sir.” A silly grin spreads across your face as you consider the possibilities of taco night. Somewhere in the room, someone calls out that they’ve found cornbread mix. Mmm, your favorite. 

“Keep calling me ‘sir' and I might start getting a little excited, Y/N.” He drawls over his shoulder. 

Shrugging airily, you pivot on your heel making your way to the second floor, “Wouldn’t know what to do with it, boss.”

* * *

“Fuck yes,” From your hunched position over the circuit breaker box, you give a little cheer as the lights in the room sluggishly blink on. You'd had to tear out a portion of the drywall, but in the end, you’d achieved what Negan wanted.

“Now ain’t that a sight,” A slow grin unravels across your features, and you put a deliberate sway in your hips as you stand, fully righting yourself. “What’d I say about teasing me, Y/N?” 

“I’m not teasing you.” Simon advances forward, kicking the door closed behind him. Your ass hits the edge of a desk.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Cocking your head to the side with an exaggerated bemused look, you ask him to clarify. “Tonight, baby.”

“What about it?” He grips your hips, hoisting you onto the desk, before nestling himself between your thighs so that his intentions are clear.

“I don’t know, you might have to convince me,” Your words are the complete opposite of your mind, which is going a mile a minute. Hell, if it weren’t for the others downstairs you’d gladly bend over. Right here, right now. “Maybe, make it special?” You struggle to get your words out as he tilts your hips up, undulating his pelvis into yours so that the seam of your jeans, rubs against you’re newly dampened sex. 

“Hmm, what can I do to convince you?” He let’s loose a shuddering breath, showing that just underneath the cocky facade, he’s just as affected as you are. “Maybe dip my fingers into that wet little snatch of yours again, hmm? Or, how about I suck on those pert little nipple?”

“Oh, yes! Simon! Simon, harder!” With every tilt of his hips, you come closer to your release. The thought that your bodies are deliberately mimicking the act of sex, is erotic as you realize the both of you are still fully clothed. “I’m so close. Make me cum, Simon!” Gasping against his mouth, you suckle on his tongue, swallowing his grunts as his pace becomes erratic.

The sound of the door opening is the emotional equivalent of ice water being poured down your back. 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Arat hisses from the doorway, and you realize your mistake. The two of you had forgotten to lock the door. 

“It’s not what it looks like,” You protest weakly, trying and failing to discreetly remove Simon’s hand from its place on your breast.

“Really, cause it looks like I just caught the both of you dry humping each other like two goddamn horny teenagers.” 

“Oh, fuck. It’s exactly what it looks like, Arat.” Straightening your clothes back into place, you cautiously step toward her, “I was going to tell you.” 

At her scoff, you employ further. “No, honest.”

“Really, Simon. Did you find out we were faking it before or after you fucked her? Some friend you are,” Completely ignoring you, she throws a biting response over your shoulder.

“Fucking wait a minute,” He protests, “Look who’s pointing fingers. This whole time the both of you have been shacking up with each other, playing the role of Ellen and Portia—circa goddamn two thousand and eight—I could’ve been balls deep, months ago.  _Months_.”

“Now just wait a goddamn minute you two,” You attempt to interject. Although, you're unsure of if you want to agree with Simon or take Arat’s side.  

“I did it to protect her,” They ignore you completely, and you give up, deciding to search the room for your discarded tool belt. “What the fuck are you gonna do when Negan finds out about this, huh? Thought that far ahead?”

“It’s none of your goddamn business, Rat.”

“Fuck you, Simon. She is my business.” 

“Guys! Shut the fuck up,” Pointing to the framed picture in what you deduce probably used to be the breakroom, they quiet, pressing forward to see what you’re looking at. It’d only caught your eye a moment ago but upon closer inspection, you realize what you’ve found. 

“Is that what I think it is?” Arat breathes in disbelief. 

“Holy shit,” Simon seems to agree, and stepping towards the door, he says, “I’m gonna go get, Negan.”

His footsteps slowly fade and with a sinking feeling, you realize that Arat could probably throw you out one of the various second story windows located around the room, and claim it as an unfortunate accident.

“Stop it, Y/N. I’m not going to kill you.” With a heavy sigh, she hops up onto the desk, which had only been recently vacated, you follow suit. 

See? It’s almost freaky how well the two of you know each other. 

“You’re not mad?” Really she’s taking this better then you expected. Bumping her shoulder in a query, she lets out a small smile, and something nudges the back of your conscience.

“She made a move, didn’t she!” When she doesn’t answer, you take it as all the confirmation you need. “That… _trollop_!”

“She kissed me,” Gaping you regard her with a ‘you’ve got to be fucking kidding me’ look. Your specialty, really. “Yeah, she seems to think that I’m too good for you.”

“That bitch!” She hushes you, and you lower your voice a bit before continuing. “The fucking nerve of some people. Am I right?” Never mind the fact that you should have the word ‘hypocrite’ tattooed on your forehead.  

“Why are _you_ so heated?” She looks a little amused, and you realize at that moment, that Arat may actually like Lauren back. 

“Because she’s trying to steal my girlfriend from me. It’s the damn principle, Rat. You don’t steal another chick’s girl.” She dismisses your rant with a roll of her eyes, but on the inside, you’re heated. How exactly had you found yourself in the rendition of Days of Our Lives: The Apocalyptic Edition? Sooner or later you’d have to face the consequences of your actions. But then again, that sounded like a problem for the future you to deal with. “Ugh, that so explains her bitchy ass attitude. I’m telling you,” Holding out your hand to demonstrate, you tell her, “I’m this close to slicing her ass. Like—look hun—this is my patience and I’ve kind of gone past it a little, but say the word. If she so much as hurts you…” You grunt out, knowing the details of Arat’s rough dating history. 

“I love you,” The fierce hugs she envelops you in, catches you off guard, but you return it anyway. A large part of you is relieved that she’s not too angry. 

“Love you too. I mean it,” You return in earnest, “and if you wanna fool around with Lauren on the low, I give you permission.” It’s the least you can do really.

She scoffs at your suggestion, “And say what exactly? ‘Oh, you know Y/N? She’s not really my girlfriend, I’m just doing a friend a solid'.”

“ _Best_ -friend,” You correct. “Just leave out all that shit for now, at least until I tell Negan.”

“You—you’re going to tell Negan? In person? Or are you gonna pull some shit like a carrier pigeon?” You don’t blame her—she knows your pension for procrastinating, especially when it came to emotional stuff—but there’s _something_ about Simon, and you don’t want to have to tiptoe around, to explore it. It’s not fair to him or Arat, and as much as it pains you to admit it, that bitch, Lauren. 

“Hug, please.” She squeezes you tighter and you revel in the embrace, leaning close to whisper in her ear, “I was right, you know. His dick _is_ impressive.”

The room is soundless for a beat before the two of you dissolve into a heap of laughter, the kind that comes straight from the heart, and makes your belly hurt. You know the one? The laughter that can only be given by someone that knows you better than you know yourself. That’s exactly how Simon and Negan find the two of you several minutes later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amount of times 'Fuck' was used in this chapter: 17 (Ugh, I can do better)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, darlings! If there are spelling errors, blame it on my hangover. x
> 
> My Tumblr: https://negansaysyouearnwhatyoutake.tumblr.com

There comes a time in every woman's life where she has to ask herself: How exactly do you end up crouched underneath a bed, butt-ass naked as your bat-shit, bat-wielding maniac of a boss chats away casually to your freshly fucked boyfriend?

Or, was it just you? Surely you couldn’t be the first women in history to find yourself in such a shitty situation?

“Simon, how the fuck are you?” As Negan steps closer into the room, you slink back into the shadows, cringing when a nipple brushes against a dust bunny. Silently gagging, you wonder, does Simon ever clean down here? The man is dirty. Although you can’t help but grin wickedly at the thought, you’d gotten to find out just how dirty he could be. “Well, what do we have here? Candles, two glasses of whiskey,” Negan chortles and to your dismay the bed sinks above you, “have I interrupted something? Got my fingers crossed for a little freaky deaky.”

_So did I, fucker!_

“Nah, she just left.” 

Fuck, so _this_ is karma. Only half-listening as Simons pulls a pathetic excuse out of his ass, you take the time to consider where it had all gone wrong. With your hands propped on your forearms, and unbeknownst to Negan, his legs perfectly framed on either side of your head. You mentally replay back the last several hours, eyes absentmindedly sweeping the floor before you.

Motherfucker!

Arat’s borrowed shoe peeks out from underneath the dresser, adjacent to your hiding spot. It wasn’t exactly obvious but it wasn’t hidden either, and you pray to whoever's listening, to get Negan out of here as quick as possible.  

Fuck, now you recall, just exactly how you’d gotten here…

“You’re really asking for it, aren’t you?”

“Whatever are you getting at, best friend of mine?” Pivoting to shoot Arat a cheeky smile in the mirror, you shuck the top you’d been trying on and reach for another option. “Arat, where’s that top you have? The one with the spaghetti straps?”

“Don’t wear that one, it doesn’t go with the jeans you’re wearing,” She looks up from the book she’s reading to point towards the closet. “I might have a dress in there from when my mother thought she could,  _will_ the gay out of me.”

Humming in response to her comment, you answer shortly, “Mother’s suck,” You’d filled Arat in on the torrid relationship between you and your mother, so she knows you’re not blowing her off when you change the subject. “How’d that go?”

“I think she got the hint when she walked in on me eating out Diane Gillian, from across the street.” A wistful sigh escapes before she lapses into a momentary silence.

Eyeing her, you can’t help but retort, “Dick is great too, but you don’t see me strolling down memory lane.”

“Easy for to say, Y/N. You’re getting laid,” Huffing she stands and hip checks you out of the way, resuming your hasty search for the mystery dress. 

“Soon,” You enunciate, “I’m getting laid,  _soon_. Oh, don’t forget roughly!” A goofy smile erupts across your face as you think of the note that Simon had slipped you this morning at breakfast. A thought occurs and you voice it, “You still haven’t taken Lauren up on her offer, have you?” Leaning against the dresser, you watch her move her search to the small closet in the room, “It’s been like three days, Rat. What if she thinks you’re faithful to your smoking hot girlfriend?”

“When exactly could I have taken her up on her proposition,” With a victorious shriek she pulls the dress from where it’d been wedged between a pair of boots.

Sauntering over, she rebukes, “I’m not making up any shitty excuse, okay?” At your exasperated look, she continues, “Negan’s been working my ass this past couple of days, trying to get ready for McCormick, okay. It’ll be one of our longest runs and we're not sending a scouting team ahead. He wants to go himself.”

“Shit,” You breathe. If Negan was planning to vacate the factory for more than an overnight trip. You knew it was serious, “do you actually think the main factory will have anything left? It’s been a couple of years since the worlds gone to shit. Others might have scavenged the factory already, workers…”

Trailing off, you consider the map of McCormick distribution centers for the state of Virginia, that’d you discovered several days prior. The eager look on Negan’s face when Simon had come back with him in tow. 

The scheduled run hadn’t gone as planned, insistent, Negan had demanded that everyone return to the factory on the same night. It’d been a grueling day. He really was pushing this venture, you hadn’t seen Simon since the last run and that'd been several days ago. He’d been held up with the other lieutenants working out the schematics, and because of that, you hadn’t gotten the hypothetical dinner you and Simon had discussed—until now. 

“Negan seems to think so,” She shoots you a look you can’t immediately decipher, “he wants you on the run. Says you really impressed him with getting the lights on, finding the distribution map. ”

“Well, what can I say? I’m a fucking delight. Oh, shit—” Shrugging on the cotton, bodycon dress you turn to her, “I look like one of Negan’s wives.”

Really, did it have to be black?

“Cheating girlfriends can’t be picky,” She clucks, “that’s all I have. Just make sure no-one sees you wandering aimlessly down the halls, and you’ll be fine.”

With no other choice, you slip on your boots. You'd wanted to dress up a little for your first date with Simon but with a lack of footwear options, it seems this whole effort had been for naught. 

“Wear my converse,” Arat’s voice carries from somewhere behind you. “It’ll look better than the hiking boots.”

“Thank you, thank you.” You land a hasty kiss on her cheek, highly aware that you were supposed to be in Simon's room several minutes ago. Slipping on her shoes you’re out the door in a matter of minutes, following the directions on the note. 

You'd grabbed the bottle of whiskey, almost as an afterthought. 

With every step your heart begins to pound in anticipation, you’d only been kidding when you'd insinuated he needed to take you "out" to dinner, but it seemed he was going the extra mile. The possibility of more was just over the horizon, and if you played your cards right, you’d have 'sugar dick' by your side for the rest of this shitty existence.

Resisting the urge to greedily rub your hands together like a villain in one of those cheesy sixties movies, you knock on Simon doors.

He opens the door after a bit, “Oh shit.”

“You like?” Your voice comes out in a hushed sensuous purr, weary of your vulnerability in the hallway. He beckons you forward, “I brought whiskey.”

“A woman after my heart,” Your chest clenches at the prospect. Yes, you affirm, you’re going to take all of him. Body and soul, he just didn’t know it yet.

“Oh, Simon.” You stop short past the threshold of his room, taking in the sight of the space softly illuminated in the glow of numerous candles. At the far right of his room, there’s a small table, adorned with a tablecloth and two covered dishes.

“You said you wanted dinner. Did I deliver?” Softly steering you towards one of the seats, he plucks the whiskey from your hands and sets it on the table, gathering you in his arms for a moment. Your lips connect in an ardent embrace. Pressing the groins of one another, subtly, into each other's pliable flesh, as you wrestle for dominance. Finally, he allows you to take the lead, coaxing him closer as you run the length of your tongue along his, before diverting, placing moist kisses along his jawline. Tonight, you’d get to have everything you’d been dreaming of.  

“No one's done anything this nice for me for so long,” Breaking the embrace, you implore further, “Simon, this is beautiful, thank you.”

“We’re not done yet, honey.” With a sweep of his hands, he removes the lid. “You’re favorite.”

“Cinnamon pancakes,” With a squeal you pick up your fork, digging into the sweet cakes, “with syrup!” You can’t believe your luck. Sex and a meal.

Simon’s starring at the bottle of whiskey appreciatively, but settles when you beckon him to sit. He pours the two of you a glass, and you can’t help but to coo, “So romantic.”

“I might have called in a favor or two at the kitchen, as well as with a certain best friend.”

With a clink of the glasses, the two of you dig in, settling into an easy conversation. There’s laughter, lots of it, and the smile on your face shows no signs of budging as the two of you finish your food and the amber liquid slowly depletes.

It’s not fair, you mentally muse, as Simon begins to regal how he’d gotten the jagged scar on his right bicep, no one should be allowed to be this tempting. Your gaze roams over the corded muscles in his neck, the wisps of chest hair that peak from beneath his button down. 

Clenching your thighs together, you can't help but marvel at the way fate works. It’d only been less than two weeks ago, that you’d fantasied of marching up to his room with a bottle of whiskey, demanding that he have his way with you. 

Now, well, you’d been wined and dined, and were well on your way to being fucked. A home run, if you’d ever seen one. 

The brief glances that Simon keeps throwing at your cleavage, is enough to stoke your overactive libido. It’s time for dessert. 

“You’ve been such a good boyfriend tonight, Simon.” You say, testing the waters, as you come around the table, straddling his lap, so the denim of his jeans brushes against the place where you want him the most.

“Boyfriend sounds so juvenile,” Nuzzling the skin behind his ear, you can’t help but sink your teeth into the sensitive flesh. “Shit, Y/N.”

“So are you?”

“Hmm?” His head tips back at your continued ministrations. The tips of his finger dig into your fleshy thighs, pulling you firmly against him so you can feel how hard he is. They’ll be bruises, no doubt. That’s what you’d been hoping for. 

“I don’t hear you disagreeing,” Dragging the blunt edge of your teeth against the expanse of his neck, your fingers make due with his buttons. Caressing the newly exposed skin. “Will you be my boyfriend?” You’re not opposed to begging. On your knees, if you have too. 

“Honey, I’ll be whatever you want as long as you keep going.” You love the sound of that, being in control goes straight to your head. Making you light in the most delicious ways possible. But the feeling of his touch grounds you.

“Simon,” You chant his name like a prayer as he moves you against him. You love how rough he is, how he doesn’t baby you. You could be equals, in and out of the bedroom. 

His fingers move farther up your legs, inching up the material of your dress. 

He curses, you smile. 

He’s found your little surprise or lack thereof. 

“No underwear?” He doesn’t wait for your confirmation, instead roughly tugging the dress up and over your head. You’re left completely bare in his lap.

Simon’s mouth envelops first one, then the other nipple, lapping at each so that they stiffen. There are no words exchanged. Only small grunts in return for lingering touches, moans of agreement. You begin to shimmy his jeans just low enough, so that his length slips free from the confines of his jeans, settling against the soft skin of your tummy.

“Bed?” 

“No, no, like this,” You raise up on your toes, so that he’s poised at your entrance. “I want to be on top.” Besides, you think it’ll hurt less.

“Jesus _fuck_ —” The expletive falls from his lips as you slowly envelop the tip of his cock in a sopping vice. The trembling whimper you give in return seems to echo the need between the two of you. He’s so big, he touches places you’re unaware you even had. 

His hands gently rest on either side of your body, poised at any moment to take control, but otherwise letting you lead. You can see its almost killing him to not just force you down onto the entirety of his arousal. If the tic at the corner of his mouth is anything to go by. You can’t help but give it a little peck.

“God, Simon!” You sink down a little further, rolling your hips so that your body can get used to the welcomed intrusion. 

“That’s it, honey,” He watches you through hooded eyes, “take this dick, baby.”

The room is filled with heavy breathing from both bodies, as the two of you try to catch your breath. You whisper, over and over again, asking for a minute as you drop your head to his shoulder. You’ve never been filled like this before, so full and thick of him. The notion is just as maddening as the action. He accepts your pleas, softly encircling you in his arms as he kisses every bit of damp skin his mouth can reach. One hand positioned at the top of your ass, the other, curved around your back.

“You’re so good at taking this dick, honey.” Placing a gentle kiss at your damp hairline, he whispers into your ear, “Do you want more?”

“Yes,” You mewl in response, you’re just unsure of how to take it. He’s truly the biggest you’ve ever had and every move is like a shock wave up your spine, dragging you deeper, under waves of endless carnal pleasure, “give me more, Simon.”

“Let me help you,” The grip on your curves tighten as he lifts you several inches, before dropping you down onto his length. Your sensitive clit takes the majority of the blow, causing you to cry out.

“Yes, harder. Fuck me, harder.” Leaning back to gain purchase on his knees, you work with him. Grinding your pelvis together, roughly joining as one. Over and over again, the pace maddening and satisfying, all at once.

“I’m gonna cum, _oh_ soon,” You pant, you can already feel your inner walls beginning to clench around his cock. If you had the headspace you’d be embarrassed about how quickly you were charging towards your release, but Simon’s dick was quickly ruining you for any other man. Not like there’d be any other, you’d make sure of it. Your ex’s paled in comparison, sex had never been this good. 

“Oh, fuck this.” A dizzying sequence of actions follows as you find yourself pushed off his lap, and spun around. With a sweep of his arms, the dishes go flying as he splays you over where his place setting once was. 

Oh, fuck yes.

“Are you going to fuck me, Simon?” You're like a cat in heat, arching back so that the head of his dick brushes against the curve of your ass.

“Yeah, honey,” He kicks your legs farther apart, spreading your ass lewdly, as he steps forward, “hard.”

With one swift movement, he’s buried within you. A keening wail escapes before he slaps a palm over your mouth. 

“Quiet,” He drops his front against your back, pressing you further into the table as he moves within you. Staking his claim with brutish strokes that fuel the fire in your belly, “you don’t want anyone to know what I’m doing to you, hmm? Stuffing your hot little pussy full of my dick. You’re dripping, Y/N, you really love this, don't you?” With a grunt he swivels his hips, filling the room with the wet squelching of your fevered embrace, for emphasis. 

The entirety of the factory could watch and you’d give two shits at this point. Pushing your ass back against him, the two of you climb higher, _higher,_ as he reaches between you pinching your bundle of nerves. 

“Shit, Simon. I’m cumming,” You gasp. The harsh bite of pain is just what you need, as you go careening head first into your release. Pressing your burning cheek to the cold table, hoping to gain a moment of reprieve from the intense pleasure, you beckon, “cum with me.”

He straightens then, pulling you back onto his length as you convulse around him, the walls of your core massaging his length desperate to feel his release inside you, coating your walls. 

“I don’t think so,” He slaps your ass before pulling out, leaving you empty, “Where do you want it?” 

“On my ass,” You gasp, turning to watch the grand finale.

He’s beautiful, completely immersed in his pleasure, as he jacks himself off, tugging harshly at the turgid skin. The facial tic is back, and you watch as his jaw tightens. He lets out a throaty moan before the first rope of his release hits your back, shortly followed by the others.

He collapses back into the chair, dragging you with him as you both relish the aftermath of your relief. The occasional touch and lingering kiss are exchanged, you don’t need words, they’d only cheapen the moment.

Several minutes later, you can sense the change in his demeanor, he’s ready for more. The thought makes you gleam when you think about how’ll you’ll be walking tomorrow. The enduring effect of a night well spent with your _boyfriend_. Cocking his head he claims your lips with his own, invoking a gentle kiss between you two, as his fingers stroke the skin of your belly, dancing lower. 

The familiar heat from your womb blossoms, as you turn in his lap to deepen the embrace. 

_TAP! TAP!_

A rasping knock at the door causes you both to stiffen. You know that sound, confident and loud. Demanding. Like its keeper. 

“No,” You start.

“It can’t be,” He agrees, although he appears to be just as dubious as you are.

“Simon,” Negan’s slightly muffled voice carries through the door, “where the fuck are ya? I know you’re in there, fucker.” 

“Shit!”

“Where the fuck do I hide?” You hiss.

“Under the bed.”

“The bed?” No way in hell, you had more dignity than that.

“Unless you want to fill Negan in on your little lie.” He looks at you expectantly.

“Bed it is,” The knocking becomes more insentient, as Simon works to blow out all the candles, picking up the discarded dishes and righting them on the table, before finally kicking your clothes underneath the bed with you as you crouch down, slipping underneath. 

“Does this guy know how to cock block, or what?” You mutter to yourself, safe under the confines of Simon’s queen-size bed. Or at least, you hope you are. 

You hold your breath when you hear the door open. “Simon, how the fuck are you?” 

Negan’s footsteps come closer.

“Well, what do we have here? Candles, two glasses of whiskey,” Negan chortles and to your dismay the bed sinks above you, “have I interrupted something? Got my fingers crossed for a little freaky deaky.”

Simon pauses a moment before he answers, “Nah, she just left.”

“Well, if you’re finished getting your dick tugged—I need to ask you something.” He taps Lucille on the ground startling you from your memories, in which, you’ll admit, you might have lingered over the fuck-awesome sex you’d just had with your boyfriend more than you needed to. 

Internally, you’re a mess. Silently, so as to not alert the two men in the room, you clasp your hands over your mouth as a wave of, what can only be described as hysterical glee, washes over you. 

“What’s up? New development with the Hilltop colony?”

“Nothing like that, I came to talk to you about McCormick. I’ve decided, we go ourselves. Take all the big guns—you, Rat, maybe Gavin. We scope the place in teams, take it really fucking slow. As long as it fucking takes, really. But we get this shit done, Simon,” Negan’s practically bouncing with glee. You know this for a fact, the bottom of the mattress dips underneath his weight, brushing against your head, as he continues, “we complete the biggest fucking run in the history of The Saviors, doesn’t that sound like something your ass would love to be apart of.”

“You want to make the McCormick plant a new outpost, don’t you?” Simon guesses. 

Your spine stiffens at the casualty of his assumption. Where were they going with this?

“ _Fuckin’ A_ —you always did know how to read me, Si. That’s exactly why I want you to run it. You’ll get your own outpost, big enough to rival The Sanctuary.”

There’s a long enough pause on Simon’s part to make you think that, maybe he’s trying to figure out how to turn down Negan’s offer as politely as possible. 

“How big?”

Fucker.

“Almost as big as mine,” Negan teases, with what you can only assume by his voice, is a playful leer.

Unable to control it, you let out a small huff of anger. What was it about boys and their sizes?

“Did you hear that?”

Oh, fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amount of times 'Fuck' was used in this chapter: 26


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOT! New chapter! Plus, you guys are getting this chapter uploaded first. (Tumblr has to wait several more hours.) Love my OG's!
> 
> okay, mwah x

**Knock. Knock.**

Oh, sweetmercifulbabyjesus.   
****

There is a god.

“Expecting someone?”

“Not tonight,” Your brow cocks slightly at Simon’s answer. Come again?

You hear the door open from your little hiding spot, and since practically everyone and their second cousin wears goddamn hiking boots around here—your guess is shot to hell. 

Hell. Where you'll inevitably end up if Negan doesn't leave soon.

You'd been holding in a sneeze for the past forty-five seconds. 

“Negan, the kitchen workers wan’a talk to you.” It’s Dwight. “They think you don’t appreciate the food, as _is_.” 

You can’t help but to mentally scoff, what was wrong with a little extra flavor? Ida, a small, redheaded German woman, and quite sadly, head chef, really was intent on punishing everyone before she croaked. 

“Fucking, really?” The bed raises from above your head, and Negan’s footsteps fade. In passing, he promises Simon, “I've gotta go handle this bullshit, but we’ll talk later.”

The door shuts with a soft click.

“Shit!” Simon’s face comes into view and he immediately balks at the look on your face. Figures. Not even half an hour into your newest relationship and you’re ready to tear him a new one. “What’d I do?”

Dusting off your naked body, you plop onto his sheets, unabashed. For emphasis, you even cross your legs. Because let’s face it, this is serious business. You’d just gotten a serving of ‘sugar dick’ and you don’t plan on letting go of it anytime soon—or ever, really. 

“ _How big?_  My names Simon and I like to have dick measuring contests with Negan.” You try to copy the slight drawl in his voice but it comes out all wrong, so you end up giving up on it entirely. “Really, fucker?”

“Honey,” He drawls. The slight smirk on his face makes your heart skip, he’s not the least bit surprised by your outburst, “I’m not goin’ anywhere.” 

At your scoff, he implores further, “Negan’ll change his mind. The man’s sharp but he’s got the attention span of a goldfish. He needs me—here.”

He steps forward, tracing a silky finger along the delicate line of your collarbone. “You need me, _here_.”

He buries his fingers within you without preamble. Your back arches in surprise as your traitorous, hungry body clenches around the intrusion. “Admit it,” He brushes his lips against yours so that you can taste the remnants of whiskey on his breath, “tell me you need me, Y/N.”

“I _need_ you to make me cum,” You attempt to sniff, however, the effect is ruined by the tremble in your voice. God, the things that man could do to your body.

“C’mon, Y/N.” He dips his frame, quickly, nudging the flushed skin below your ear. You release a delicate shiver, “Tell me you need me.”

“Don’t stop, Simon.” Grasping his wrists in a futile effort to keep his fingers in place, you in fact whimper when he pulls away, dropping to his knees so that he’s leveled with your dripping core. 

“Okay, I need you.” You huff, the idea of having him so close is maddening and the little smirk on his lips is simply irresistible. You want him, want to feel the burns of his facial hair against your thighs. His hot breath against your now quivering sex. All of it.

“Say it—like you mean it,” He clucks, winding his forearms up and around your thighs, where his hands come to rest—indecently high—spreading you so that every part of your wet skin is on display for him. 

“Mhmm,” You twitch, as he licks a trail up from the crack of your ass to the very top, where your clit is. Taking it in his mouth, he laves the bud, before releasing it with a sucking pop, “your cream is as sweet as honey, baby.” 

“I need you—oh, fuck!—I need you, Simon.” He brings you even closer to his face. Burrowing himself further as he laps at your creamy arousal. You recline further onto the bed, gasping as he stiffens his tongue, driving into your walls. One of his fingers edges up and begins to rub against your bundle of nerves. You bow off the bed, screaming as you release onto his lapping tongue. 

He enters you when you’re unsuspecting, weak and panting in the aftermath of your release. The walls of your wet cunt still quivering. 

“Goddamnit, Y/N!” Wrapping your legs around his trim waist, urging him to move, you pull his face down to yours, teeth gnashing in your raw and primal need to become fully connected. “You're mine now! This wet pussy," A slap, "those honeyed nipples," A squeeze. "mine, it’s all mine now! Say it!”

“Yours,” You pant, clutching at his back as the heat within your lower belly boils over. Tugging you unforgivingly under waves of pleasure without a moments notice. It’s a sea of sensations. Simon’s hot breath against your skin, the feeling of his nimble fingers plucking at your peaked breasts. The precarious finger, placed so close to your other entrance just barely touching the puckered skin, “fuck, Si—oh!—Simon. It’s all yours.”

His hands grip your thigh, almost painfully, as he releases into your quivering walls.

Several moments later, you’re engulfed in all things, Simon. The cotton sheets that carry his scent as well as his arms, as the room begins to rest, filled with the smell of your fevered culminations.

“Tell me what it would have been like,” Your eyes absentmindedly trace the cracks in his wall before coming to study his posters. You hope that he’ll humor you, “you know…if we’d met before.”

A part of you wants to know: did the world had to have essentially met its end, for the two of you to be together? Cause, shit. That’s kinda depressing.

“Well, that depends,” Shuffling closer to his body as it’s an actual furnace, and you’re feet tend to run forty degrees cooler than the rest of your body, you wait for him to continue, “on what kind of girl you were. I frequented bars,” He shrugs, reaching for something on his bedside table.

A coy grin stretches across your face when he hands you a lukewarm beer out of seemingly nowhere.

“I frequented the occasional bar,” You admit, before taking a quick drink. The carbonated beverage slides quickly down your throat. Bitter liquid with a hint of orange settling in your tummy. Warm—but not as pleasurable as the warmth that Simon could evoke from your own body. 

“Well, in that case,” He settles back against the pillows, arranging himself so that there are parts of you touching. You love that. Love that his need for you overflows into unconscious mannerisms, “bar or pool table?” 

Daddy always said that’s how you’d know if someone really cared for you. If their body reached for you when their heart was unaware. 

“Bar.” You cheek.

“That kind of girl, really?” A small grin begins to play at the corner of his lips. That damn facial tic. You want to lick it. 

“Shut up,” You retort, slightly chuckling, because let’s face it—he’s right. He hushes you in kind, slinging an arm around your shoulder. So smooth.

“As I was saying,” The muscles in his neck contract as he swallows a gulp of beer, “I’d have taken the seat next to ya’, waited until one of your little friends had gone to the bathroom. Probably say some shit like: What are you drinking? Cause I'd wan'a buy you a...”

“Rum and coke,” You insert, helpfully.

“Classy,” You respond with a shrug. So it’s been said. 

Finishing off your beer, you place it somewhere on the floor before giving him your full attention. “While my drink's being made, I’d engage you with polite, idle, chit-chat. But I’d be looking for a ring,” You hedge.

“You’d find none.” He lifts his left hand, seeing through your thinly veiled attempt to dig into his past. No ring tan.

“Perfect, you’re exactly my type.” That’s a glorious understatement. He’s the picture of sexuality, sheets barely covering tight abs dusted with a smattering of hair. Coupled with the slight bulge of the covers that sheaths his manhood and his tousled hair that signals 'just fucked'... 

Well, you’re ready for round three. 

“So what would you say if I asked you to come back to my place?” Hmm, good question.

“I’d say,” Your voice lowers to a hushed purr, hitching your leg over his waist in the process, “you could fuck me in the bathroom if you’re quick about it. And  _if_  you were good enough…I might’ve taken you home.” You're only partially joking.

“Naughty boy,” Settling back onto his lap, the bulge of his rapidly hardening member sears heat into the curve of your ass, “does the thought of fucking me in a dirty bathroom, turn you on? I bet you’d have pushed my skirt aside, buried your fingers inside.”

You take him into your wet sleeve, the remnants from your previous coupling making it easier for you to ride him. It's like shockwaves up your spine everytime you lift up onto your knees, so you take to swiveling your hips. The occasional curse falls from your lips, as you continue to work your pelvis against his. His coarse pubic hair is torture to your oversensitive clit.

“Good?” He smirks, seemingly unaffected. He downs the rest of his beer, watching the way your breasts bounce as you ride him before setting it down somewhere. Unwillingly, your head drops back as the blunt head of his dick rubs against that _spot_ , you’ve never been this filled by a man. 

“The best,” You pant, employing his hands to touch you. Placing them on your breasts, he gets the message. He caresses the tips until they harden from his touch, smoothing his way up your chest where he seizes your neck lightly, pulling you into a sweet kiss.

“You’re wrong.”

“Hmm?” You utter the question against his wet, swollen lips, all the while, keeping your fevered pace. 

“I said, you’re wrong. I’d have gotten one look at you in those tight ass shorts...probably bent you over the sink and fucked you until you'd beg me to take you home. So that you'd be able to scream until your little heart's content.” 

The words mixed with his ministrations is too much, and you slump against him urging him to take control. “Nice, honey. Your effort is commendable.” He says, referring to your plea. He’s so cocky, but with a dick like that, you can’t really blame him.

“Your sugar dick  _is_  fucking commendable.” You pant against his neck, trying and failing to get your bearings. 

He’s poised to attack but at your last retort his hard exterior cracks. First, a small smile. Before his facial tic appears. Then, full-on belly laughter. 

“Fuck, Y/N. You’re just my kind of crazy.” He encircles you in his arms so that your breasts pillow against his hard chest. “Where have you been all my life, sweetness?”

“Oh, you know,” He begins to move within you, pressing your hips against his in a delicious angle so that he rubs against every surface of your inner walls at an unhurried pace, “just biding my time in a post-apocalyptic America, playing the budding love interest to an emotionally-wounded individual who hides behind her best friends lack of emotional constraint and responsibility.”

He stops for a moment, eyes shining with a subtle emotion that makes your heart beat a little faster and your eyes slightly sting. You hate being emotional. But maybe, just this once? “Fucking perfect.”

You can’t agree more. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! We're nearing the end my friends and there's bound to be more smut and laughter.
> 
> p.s. If you've been wondering where I've been or when a story will be updated, you should totally follow my Tumblr.  
> okay, mwah x

“Shit a brick on a mother- _fucking-_ stick!”With a startled yelp, you back away from the generator that’d backfired smoke into your face, landing on your ass in a haste to get away from the small explosion.

“You alright, Y/N?” Tito offers you a hand up.

“Fucking peachy,” You kick the generator—twice for good measure—dusting off your ass as you grumble, “I doubt that generator is gonna work after you  _shit-heads_  left it out in the rain.” Propping your hand on your hip, you assess the small group of sheepish men before you. 

“Whatd’ya think the problem is?” Fat Joey rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, avoiding direct eye contact.

“Well, it’s white exhaust smoke,” You idle, making direct eye contact with Simon before stooping down to get a closer look, “could be a warped cylinder cause of the weathering from the storm a couple days ago.” You shrug.

“So what’s the verdict?” Simon inquires as he shifts the entirety of his weight onto his left foot, cocking his hip so that the motion draws your attention to the slight bulge in his jeans. The _contrapposto_ personified. Hmm, he truly was a work of art. If only you were talented enough to immortalize his ‘sugar dick’ in marble. If only you  _had_  access to marble.

It’s so hard to act oblivious when only last night he’d had you bent over in a shower stall. Somehow you’d found yourself in two relationships—one delightfully authentic and the other an exhausting charade.

Oh, joy.

If only Dan Harris was still alive. You could’ve gotten your own time slot on _Nightline_.

“Well, Simon. The generator is fucked. Let it dry out,” You lick your lips, wetting the dry skin, before saying deliberately, “I’ll come back later, _lubricate_ the mechanisms and I’ll see if I can get it _up_ and running again.”

With a cheeky wink, you pivot and flounce out of the garage.

The eyes of Simon searing a whole into your daisy duke clad ass.

Oh, yeah. You’d gone there.

* * *

With a rasp to Negan’s office door, you glance down, double checking the scrap sheet of paper with a list of your assignments for the day. You split your time at The Sanctuary, and when you weren’t needed on runs, you went around the factory making repairs.

“Who the fuck is it?”

“Y/N,” You push the door partially ajar, offering  a slightly sarcastic wave.

You had told him you’d be arriving about this time. Why the theatrics?

“Well, don't just stand there with your dick out. Come in—!” He pauses mid-sentence, glancing down at your outfit. He does a double take. “What the fuck are you wearing?”

“Shorts.” Adjusting the tool belt around your waist you step forward into the plush office.

“Damn,” He breathes, “you still like pussy?”

Hmm, how to answer without lying straight to the man’s face? He looks like a starving dog who’s had a piece of steak dangled before him.

“I’m still with Arat, aren’t I?” Eh, it does the trick.

Negan nods a bit sagely, “Just checking.”

“Maintenance team said you wanted me to fix something,” You hedge, wanting to get along with your list of assignments. Maybe tease Simon some more if the occasion called for it. God willing.

“Shit, Y/N. You’ve got me all frazzled now, sweetheart.” He chuckles, tugging on his facial hair. Then after a moment, he says, “Yeah, I need the fuckin’ ceiling fan fixed, got my damn balls sticking to my leg over here.”

“Take off the leather jacket.” You offer.

“Ever heard of an aesthetic?”

“Ever heard of a heat stroke?” You really can’t resist. Messing with Negan was almost like a part-time job at this point.

“Touché.” He rebukes with a cheeky grin. Hmm, seems like Negan enjoyed bantering with you as much as you did.

Moving the plot along, you motion to his desk, inquiring, “Do you want me to just stand on it or…?”

He moves some papers aside and motions to his desk, giving you the ‘all clear' sign.

“Where’d you learn how to do this?” He asks after a moment of silence, his sharp eyes follow your fingers as you remove the circuit and study the wires.

“My dad.” You hated how broken and defensive your voice instantly gets the moment someone questions your past. But it was inevitable when it came to talking about your parents. 

“A handyman?”

“Construction.”

“Daddy issues?” He catches the slight bite in your tone. 

“You could say that?”

“Love a girl with daddy issues, mhmm.” He licks his lips, leaning against the corner of his desk to get, what you’re sure, is an unobscured view of your ass. “C’mon, daddy’s girl. Lay it on me.”

“There’s nothing to _lay_ , Negan.” You’re almost sure that the circuit needs to be replaced, but you do another set of preliminary checks to make sure that you won’t have to spend any more time with Negan then absolutely necessary. “My father was a good man and he died. Sometimes people don’t want to talk about what came before.”

Jumping down from his desk, your boots make an echoing thud as you head towards the door, mumbling something about a new circuit as the door shuts behind you. God, he could be such a jackass when the mood called for it. He had the nerve to act all high and mighty—even though  _he_  was the root of all your problems. And to top off the shit sundae with the shittiest cherry, you had to walk the several flights of stairs to the garage to get a new circuit.

“Mother— _ahh_!” A set of masculine hands quickly seize you in an unyielding grip, dragging you down a neighboring hallway.

Fuck. You usually had a weapon tucked into the waistband of your pants, but your choice of clothing had nixed that option entirely. You figured there wasn't much need for one anyway, being inside the factory walls. Figures you'd get murdered in your daisy dukes. The thought was kind of beautiful actually. A full circle moment, if you will.

“What did I say about teasing me, honey?” You stop struggling when Simon’s voice reaches your ears. Hell. Now you’re struggling for a completely different reason, pressing back into his hardening bulge as he drags you deeper down the hallway and into a stairwell.

He finally releases the palm clasped over your mouth and you have enough time to retort something witty before you lose your ability to talk once more.

“I don’t think so, Y/N.” He reaches for the zipper of your shorts, tugging them down just enough to slip his right hand inside. Curling his fingers so that they're buried within your core.

Your throaty groan of enjoyment is silenced by his palm as he presses you tighter against the concrete wall, stepping forward to wedge his erection firmly between your ass cheeks.

“What the hell were you doing?” The grit in his voice makes you involuntary shiver.

That must be a rhetorical question, truly, as there was no way you could answer. Sensing your admission he releases his hand from around your mouth, drifting downward to lightly grasp your throat.

“Well?” Pinching your sensitive bud, he presses down on the bundle, before spreading your wetness on your outer lips. Making them all slick and sensitive.

“Teasing you,” Your words escape around a quiet moan of encouragement as he spears you repeatedly on his middle and ring finger. Looks like your fantasy had come to you. God, you loved this man more than anything.

“So you were teasing me, hmm?” The pressure on your aching clit is torture. “There wasn’t a single man that didn’t have their eyes glued to your ass when you left. Did your account for that, baby? Having to make me listen to my men talk about what it would be like to bend you over and fuck you. While I couldn't say a...Damn. Thing." His fingers begin to quicken as he teases you with nipping kisses to the back of your neck. "I bet they're still talking about this luscious ass.”

There isn’t enough air in your lungs to properly answer his questions as your hurtled, head first into your orgasm. The feeling all-consuming and deliciously powerful, so much so, that it shifts the point of your entire being to the space between your thighs.

“I’m sorry.” You finally gasp out. Removing his fingers from within you, he silences your pleas, increasing the pressure around your throat.

“Sorry for what, honey?” The rustling of his belt fills the empty corridor. "Sorry for the way your ass sways when you walk? Sorry for making me walk around with my dick as hard as steel." 

The head of his member nudges your swollen lips apart as he runs it through the wetness collecting there. The thought that anyone could stumble upon you with Simon, and essentially expose all of your secrets, doesn’t escape your conscious mind. Your nipples pebble further, pushing against the fabric of your thin t-shirt.

Your head is practically spinning, dazed from a shortened amount of oxygen, and when he enters you roughly there’s a moment when you’re sure that you’ve blacked out. With slight maneuvering, he positions your right leg onto the railing before taking possession of your throat with both hands, using the grip to push you back onto his relentless thrust. You can't even be bothered to address the tearing sound you'd heard.

“That’s it, honey.” He quietly pants. Gaining purchase on the textured wall, you work your hips against his.The only sounds in the stairwell are your labored breathing and the slapping of wet skin against one another.“Fuck yourself on me. C'mon you're not gon'a break.”

Your eyes roll back at the onslaught of pleasure that crashes over you so suddenly. He fucks you at a ruthless pace and you have no choice but to take it all. Arching your back so that you can take more of him. He hadn't given you much time to get used to his size, and the combination of pleasure mixed with a sharp bite of pain was quickly doing you in. You wish you could tell him as much.

“If I let you breathe fully,” Licking the salt from your neck, he punctuates his question with three quick thrusts, “will you be quiet, baby? Hmm, we wouldn’t anyone to see you, bent over and fucked. Would we?”

You shake your head in agreement, sucking in a lungful of air when he releases you. 

“Simon says, be quiet. Got it.” You're rewarded with a stinging slap on your ass cheek.

“Remember what I said, baby? You’re _mine_.”

“Mine to squeeze.” He grips a bouncing breast beneath your shirt, plucking at the ripened bud.

“To hold.” Cupping your front he spreads his finger in a ‘v’ so that you're held open wide and the innermost surface of your lower lips brush against the slick surface of his dick. It’s a beautiful sight. Something that you wish you could frame as you glance down, watching the way you repeatedly join as one.

“To _fuck_.” Bending his knees, he thrusts up, causing the blunt head of his dick to knock against your g-spot.

“Oh, yes! Fuck me, _Simon_!” The edges of your vision darken as your inner walls clamp down upon his stony cock like a vice. You’re left panting, barely conscious when Simon pulls out with a muted grunt, releasing onto your ass.

* * *

“What the hell happened, Y/N? You’ve been gone for almost an hour?” Negan’s irises flicker to your fully clothed legs, adorned with a pair of lightweight cargo capris. 

“Umm, a wardrobe malfunction?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Tumblr: negansaysyouearnwhatyoutake.tumblr.com


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> been a bit. sorry about that! summer vacation is on and so is my writing streak!

“Y/N!”

From your precarious perch atop a ladder, you pause a moment in your operations to gaze down at a slightly flustered Dwight. 

“What d’ya want, fucker?” Almost a week later and Negan still had you running repairs around the factory. If you didn’t know any better you could have sworn he was testing you. Hence, your position. Almost two stories high on a metal gurney, welding mask, and torch in hand. “Can’t you see I’m motherfucking busy!” And horny, deliriously so. 

“Negan wants you at the meeting today!”

“Today?” Flicking the mask up, you squint down at Dwight’s tiny outline. “I don’t _do_ meetings.”

You weren’t a lieutenant like Simon or Arat, therefore you’d never had the unfortunate experience of sitting through a meeting. You usually got your orders just before a run and did as you were told.

Not to mention you had the attention span of a fruit fly. 

“You’re fucking with me, right?” Cocking your brow, you indicate ‘no, you're  _not_ actually fucking with him’. “But Negan specifically requested you be there.” That bastard has the nerve to whine. 

Funny, you had no conscious. So Dwight was up shit’s creek and you could care less.

“Not my problem.” You sing, flipping your mask downward and turning on your blowtorch. The last thing you needed was to be around Negan—lest, you pop off and say something you weren’t meant to.

It had been eight days.

Eight. Days.

Without Simon’s coveted ‘sugar dick’ and you were having serious withdrawal symptoms.

Your hands were shaking. _Shaking_!

A dick like that hadn’t crossed your paths in ages and it was a shame that Negan of all people was the reason why you weren’t able to get your latest fix. 

“…and if Negan doesn’t get what he wants, Simon will have my ass, Y/N, it’s like a never-ending cycle—!” Your ears perk at the sound of Simon’s name. 

“Simon?” 

 _Play it cool_ , you admonish yourself when your voice comes off enthusiastic even to your own ears. 

“Uh, yeah. He’s heading the meeting—?”

“I’m coming,” You call eagerly, dropping your toolbox an unseeing distance into Dwight’s arms. It clips his shoulder but your nonplussed, scuttling past with your nose pointed upward. Like a dog seeking its lost owner. At this rate, you’d almost given up on your indifferent facade. Calling over your shoulder, you beckon, “Come on. Lead the way, D.”

He follows, mumbling something about ‘pretzels and beer’ before motioning in the direction of the east stairwell.

“How do I look?” For the tenth time, you attempt to straighten your hair, wishing that you hadn’t been informed of the meeting at the last minute. 

“Uh, great?” 

“Don’t lie to me, D.” Making a small fuss, you attempt to wipe the grease out of your overalls. “I’m a fucking mess and you goddamn know it.”

“It’s just, Rat. You see her every damn day.” With a hefty sigh, he surpasses you in the hallway, dropping the heavy tool belt at the doorway before entering the designated meeting room. 

You follow after a moment’s hesitation. Considering that just the thought of seeing Simon had completely clouded your judgment, you hadn’t contemplated much of what would actually be required of you at this meeting. A ratty t-shirt and faded overalls, not much of an outfit to impress the masses, but it’d have to do. 

“Holy fuck!” You curse upon crossing the threshold, it gains you a few looks from the inhabitants in the room. Oh well. You hadn’t made it this far in life by giving an actual fuck. From wall to floor, the perimeter of the medium sized room is crammed with chalkboards, each with detailed information that covers every available inch. Upon closer inspection, you notice that the information is categorized, all depicting information of the McCormick run. 

Damn. So this is what Simon had been up to. He’s toward the front of the room, surrounded by three men, amid what seems like a very pressing talk. There are a lot of hand gestures. 

Hands.

You of all people knew what those hands could do. The familiar ache of desire beings to pool in your stomach and you desperately try to tamp it down. Now is not the time.

But how could you resist Simon? Once you’d gotten a piece of him all bets were off. You were an addict and he was your favored prescription.

Withdrawal hadn’t been kind to you. 

“Impressive isn’t it?”

Jumping at the puff of warm air that hits your neck, you sidestep Negan, crossing your hands tightly under your breasts in the process. “Um, can you not?”

“Can I not what?” You’ve got to hand it to the man, thirty-something years on this planet and he still hadn’t grasped the concept of personal space. Deciding to drop the subject, you gesture to the closest board in question. Where had all these pamphlets and handouts come from?

“We sent back a small scavenging team.” Negan casually motions for you to follow and you do so, catching Arat’s eye across the room. She sends you a look that loosely translates to ‘don’t be a smart ass’. 

Tough nuts, it was ingrained into your genetic being. You knew exactly how you wanted to die. A smart-ass comment poised at the ready, beer in hand, and _hopefully_ clothed in your now recently tailored daisy dukes.

You let out an unconscious sigh causing Negan to turn his head, he spares a lingering glance at your breasts which are slightly shielded in your baggy garments before remembering where he was in his tirade.

“This is where you come in, doll.” He casually leans his tall frame against a chalkboard filled to the brim with what looks like blueprints and polaroids of the factory that you’d raided several weeks ago. “I need your brain. I think I’ve underestimated you. Watered you down to nothing more than a walking piece of ass…and I’m sorry for that.”

You repel slightly at the unexpected apology, unsure of how to proceed. You’re almost flattered. Could you really accept his half-assed apology? Mentally you say, fuck it. What the hell—you _are_ a hot piece of ass. You tell him as much.

“Y/N,” The twinkle in his eye increase tenfold, something you thought was inhumanely impossible, as you both clasp hands, “I think this is the start of an insanely benefiting friendship.”

“Friends,” You echo. By now the whole room has turned their attention to your interaction. The minute Negan had walked in they’d all tuned into his mannerisms like a radio frequency. Across the board, there are varying levels of emotion. But none of them are disbelief or even shock. The back and forth between the two of you all those years. None would dare point out that a friendship—or a twisted variation of it—had bloomed long ago. “Alright, Negan. You’ve said it so it must be true.”

“Can we get started? Before we all clasp hands and start singing kumbayah.” Arat was never one for emotions. Thank fuck, neither were you. Negan agrees and everyone takes their seat, except Simon, who seems to be leading the meeting. You find yourself across from Arat but next to Negan as you settle in for what you assume is a briefing. 

D.J. and Regina launch into an extensive itinerary of their group’s three-day trip. You hadn’t gotten much information out of Arat, to begin with, but it seemed that they’d be going on a scouting trip ahead of the main group to set up a rendezvous point. 

Fuck, this was some serious shit. Your palms become sweaty. Why the hell were you here again?

Regina exchanges a look with D.J. “…only thing is we’re going in blind. Are men are slightly concerned about the… _nature_ of this trip.”

“That’s where Y/N comes in.” Negan retorts nonplussed, he spins Lucille absentmindedly between his palms, as you look up at the sound of your name. 

“What the hell is she going to do?” Good question. But you’re still fucking offended by his tone.

Negan cocks his brow, motioning that the floor is yours. You’ve given it some thought about why you were here. Gazing over Dwight’s head at the chalkboard with what Negan had indicated was “your area of expertise”.

With a deep breath, you stand, “I’ll have you fuckers now…given the trajectory of the wiring and underground piping—as well as—common  _fucking_ sense…most corporations follow similar blueprints to save money. I can have an 89% accurate layout of the factory ready by the time the run is scheduled. We’ll at least have emergency exits down in case shit hits the fan.”

Negan lets out a low whistle, and with a toothy grin addresses D.J. with a slightly smug look. “Anyone got any more questions for Y/N?”

A collective ‘no’ follows from the others and you take your seat.

“As I was saying,” Simon interjects. He looks partially annoyed, but the hint of pride in his eyes makes your heart swell, knowing that its there for you, “considering Y/N’s capacities, we’ll break down the group into smaller numbers—no more than five—to clear out any biters. She’ll go in during the second wave, locate the power grid and light that fucker up.”

“Think you can do it? It’ll be bigger than the ones here at the factory.” Dwight points out. 

He’s got a point. 

“What are you saying, D?” Simon looks miffed and you lick your lips briefly when he leans forward onto the table, forearms bulging. “Y/N’s more than fucking capable.”

“No, he’s right.” You rush to quell Simon’s misgivings, although his faith in you _is_ heartwarming, working on a mass power grid by yourself is an impossible feat. “I could use a team of able-bodied people.” You turn to Negan to make sure you’re not overstepping. “Maybe some of the guys from maintenance? I just need people familiar with tools.”

Negan considers your statement briefly before commenting, “I think I might have the sorry shits you need.”

“Fucking perfect.” You cheer.

The meeting goes smoothly after that, the dialogue fluid and more inclusive towards your presence when the others realize that you’re not at the table as a result of one of Negan’s moods. 

“If there’s an existing group already settled there?” Arat questions after hearing Negan’s request. He wants sixty-five Saviors on the trip.

“Then we kill ’em.” Negan retorts. “However, considering what it took us to find the last location, the chances of that are slim. People are a resource,” He licks his lips, “but I _want_ this resource. You hear me?”

It still eluded you to how Negan could be ‘Mr. playful’ one moment and then “Mr. I’ll-eat-your-corpse-with-my-bare-teeth’ the next.

You’re compelled along with the rest of the able-bodied members to chime in collectively that ‘yes, you hear him’ and that you are in fact ‘stone cold Negan’.

Control freak.

The meeting continues, shifting to the topic of vehicles and you zone out promptly. You can’t help it. Three words: Naughty. Professor. Simon. 

“Pretty cool, huh?” A nudge to your shoulder. You cock your head to the left in curiosity. Maybe he’s talking to someone else? Another nudge. Then the right. Finally, with a small exhalation of reluctance, you decide to humor him.

“What is, Negan?”

“Me, of course.” He chuckles lowly, spreading his arms airily. “Letting you in on this meeting…‘longside Rat. Hell, I’m goddamn Santa Claus. Just don’t tell HR, hmm? Conflict of interest and all that— _shit_.”

It’s a goddamn wonder your eyes don’t fall out of your head the number of times you’ve reacted this way, “Thank you, Negan. For allowing me to interact with my girlfriend.” The sarcasm drips from every syllable. 

Inconspicuously shifting your weight onto one hip, you hope he’ll get the hint. As a result, Simon’s eyes flicker to your face before he lets out a heaving sigh. Calling out with your eyes, you beg him to end this madness. Friends or not. Negan was still annoying as shit. “We’re down for today. Nice work everyone.”

Oh, thank fuck. The room begins to clear. 

“Y/N can you stay for a bit? I want to go over the blueprints.” Simon sounds completely businesslike, and Negan, intrigued by his words decides to stay too. 

You resist the urge to throw your self on the floor kicking and screaming like a five-year-old having a tantrum.

“Blueprints we found for the smaller plant.” He informs you as you come to stand by his side. Under Negan’s sharp eyes, you barely resist the urge to lean in once you get a whiff of Simon’s cologne. Swallowing the saliva in your mouth you address Negan’s questions as you rattle off some initial observations. Simon takes rapid notes. He looks tired but absolutely delectable.

After answering several more of Negan’s questions he leaves on the air of checking on his newest wives. She’s a spitfire, he informs you, as she’d recently gone out of her way to drop a red sock in his laundry turning the entirety of his sheets a soft pink.  You think it quite odd that he’d put up with that kind of fuss from someone. 

The door shuts with a soft click but you stay where you are, bent at the waist, studying the odd placement of piping and electrical wires. 

They’re too close together. What the hell were they thinking—?

“I’ve missed you, honey.” He’s quicker then you anticipated, having walked Negan to the door you hadn’t heard him approach. “Miss me?”

“Oh, yes-s-s.” Your words escape around a breathy sigh as he presses himself against your bent frame, nudging the steel of his erection between the swells of your ass.

The sensations are instantaneous and as he presses you tighter against the cold table, your breasts pebble and slick moisture begins to form between your thighs. 

“Do you want me to fuck you, Y/N?” The tight grip on your hips makes your head spin.

You moan helplessly at the force in which he wrenches your overalls down your shoulders and past your hips, discarding them in a pile by the table. 

“I didn’t hear a yes,” He goads, stepping back to observe the dampened spot of your panties.

“Please,” The word gets locked in your throat as warm puffs of air caress the curve of your hip. He nuzzles there for a moment, pressing open-mouthed kisses in his wake, “touch me, Simon, _please_.”

“I’ll touch you, baby.” He promises. The moistened tip of his tongue draws a line where the top of your leg meets the bottom curve of your ass. He pays special attention to the spot, drawing the skin between his teeth before nipping at the fleshy spot. “You have to tell me where, alright? Can you do that for me?”

A sucking kiss. You’ll have love bites, for sure. 

“Yes, I can do that.” The scruff of his facial hair leaves whiskey burns on your skin. 

“Good,” He takes the crotch of your panties and pushes them aside, exposing your wet slit, “hold these.”

Taking the dampened material between your fingers, you do as he says. Your imagination runs wild and you know at the back of your mind you should encourage him to hurry. Someone will come along soon. But you do love how he toys with your body.

“Here?”

All concerns of getting caught swiftly leave your mind as he burrows his face between your thigh.

“Yes, god, _yes_!” You chant. 

Tongue. His tongue.

You slap your free hand over your mouth to stop the careening wail poised at the tip of your lips. How you wish you didn’t have to be quiet. 

His tongue is maddening as it dives deeper, brushing against the inner walls of your weeping sex. Stiffening the appendage as he doubles his efforts, he spreads you a little farther, catching you off guard as he presses a single finger against the tight ring of your anus.

“Is this alright?” He can practically taste the hesitancy on your skin.

“Yes.”

“I won’t hurt you, baby.” You trust him, wholeheartedly. 

Bracing yourself for what he’ll do next, you’re surprised when he pulls away entirely. 

“No, don’t—!” The absence of him is too much, the tears well in your eyes. 

What’s happening to you? You’ve never craved someone so much in your life. But its okay, because in the next moment he’s there, poised at your entrance and then he’s atop you and inside you all at once. He lets out a sound half groan, half laugh as he bottoms out bringing his hips flush to your partially clothed ass. 

“It’s alright, honey. You feel me?” A flex of your hips and you’re a blubbering mess beneath him as he begins to move, shallow thrusts that repeatedly nudge against the fleshy, sensitive spot within you. 

It drives you absolutely wild, sending you thrashing against him. You’re unsure whether its to move closer or escape. 

“I feel you— _fuck_! I feel you.” You cry out. This isn’t like the other times, this isn’t like before. You begin to fall apart in his hands as he flexes his hips, just as the tip of his index finger slips into your ass. The foreign feeling takes you off guard, hurtling you over the edge as you cry out your release into your palm.

“Simon,” You whimper. 

His warm hands trail a path down your clothed back, “Come here, honey.” 

Turning in his embrace, you notice that he’d slipped on a condom. He tugs his jeans up without a care, gathering you in his arms. It’s only then, do you realize you’re still crying. The tears blind your vision. He kisses each one away.

“What’s the matter, honey? Tell me so that I can fix it.” Of course, he would. It’s only been a short time, but you knew unconditionally that he’d do anything for you. 

This isn’t how you imagined it to be. Pantless and a tear-streaked face. This was a stretch, even for you.

Even so…

“Simon, I-I  _um_ …” Fuck, you weren’t the nervous type but this shit was nerve-racking.

He smirks, saving you from your own insecurities. 

“I love you, Y/N.” He captures your mouth in a slow embrace, pulling you flush against his chest. The tip of your tongue brushes his, twining around one another much like your souls were currently doing. “Sugar tits and all.”

Your chest. 

You never thought you’d be able to love someone, especially after the death of your father. But along came Arat, and now the universe had given you Simon.

It was positively bursting with love. But like everything, you had to spoil it.

Ceasing the moment, you inquire, “Er, isn’t this too soon?” A million insecurities run through your head. So many ‘what-ifs’ and ‘whys’. But you want this, you desperately want this complex, horny and fuck-hot man in front of you. Mind, body, and spirit.

He calms all of your qualms with a sentence, the subtle emotions in his eyes making your throat tighten. You make a mental note to expunge all the tears from your story when you tell Arat later. “Do we look like the conventional type?”

“Fuck no.” You eagerly agree, lips meeting in the most decadent kiss. It’s different— _completely_ different when you love the person you embrace. The feelings heighten and the center of your being shifts to the man in your arms. There isn’t anything beyond him. There can’t be. “I love you, too.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've been slow to upload. I haven't really been in a 'funny' mood. Anyway, let's get on with the fic! x

“Caramel syrup.”

Check.

“Trojan ‘Her Pleasure’ Ecstasy Lubricated condoms.”

Check.

Arat chances a glance from her book. She’s been doing a lot of reading lately. You, an intellectual, could appreciate that. “Hot date?”

“Steel spreader bar.”

A bitch to find, but _check_. 

“You can say that,” You murmur, partially distracted by the task at hand, “what gave it away?”

When you let loose another exasperated huff, she offers, “Just take my bag. Yours is obviously not up to the task of being a sex satchel.”

“Thank you,” Trying to fit all the items in your slightly smaller bag was a bitch. Dusting your knees, you begin to search the room for Arat’s bag. Mid-sweep, your eyes catch the cover of her book.

“ _The Fine Art of Fellatio_ ,” You read, pursing your lips. “Rat, if you needed help in the oral department, you could have just asked me. I’ll have you know that my dick sucking skills are A-1. Just ask Simon.” You can’t help but gleam.

“You know nothing about pussy,” She scoffs, “you are a faux lesbian.”

You have no right to be offended but you are, not to mention slightly hurt. “I’ll have you know that they are basically the same thing. I’m probably great at eating pussy.” You take a mental pause. 

“ _Wait_ , you’re trying to distract me, you strumpet. Are you brushing up on your pussy eating skills for Lauren?” You taunt. Plopping down on the bed beside her, you tug the book from her unceasing grip so that you can take a look at her favored reading material. 

“ _After your partner has been sufficiently aroused, dip a chosen appendage into the opening of their sex. Furthermore,_ ” Your brow furrows at the given illustration but not before twisting the book and your head sideways to study the graphic depiction of a vulva, “ _coat the lubricant onto the labia—!_ ”

She leans forward to snatch the book from your hands, clutching it defensively to her chest. “It’s been awhile, okay?”

“Jesus, Rat. Just stick your face in there and move around. Like this.” Puckering your lips, you stick your tongue out before whipping it around viciously.

“Is that what you do?” She looks mildly intrigued. 

“Details, details.” You wave away her question. “I should get going, though. Don’t wanna keep Simon waiting any longer than need be!” Euphoria, absolute euphoria. “Have I mentioned that he said I love you _and_ he said it first.” You're not gloating, promise. 

A range of emotions come and go across Arat’s face before she finally settles on a soft teasing look. “Only a billion times.” She can’t decide whether to be angry or happy for you. So it’s this kind of reluctant acceptance that just so happens to fall in the middle. You don’t deserve her, truly.

Flipping back to her page, she offers up, oh so casually, “I also heard…you cried like a little bitch.”

“ I. Did. Not.” You roar.

That shithead. Ugh, but he was your shithead. The shithead that loved you. You and your shithead, who you were desperately in love…

“You’re really serious about him, aren’t you?” Arat marvels quietly, taking in your captivated expression over the top of her book. She’s never seen you this happy. It’s almost as if she’s looking at a new person. Not different, just more wholesome. 

“Rat, I want him for life.” You declare just as quietly. 

“Then what are you waiting for?” With a peck on her cheek and a promise to see her tomorrow, you're off, bounding down a hallway and up several staircases to Simon’s room.

Fuck, you were practically Olympic material. If there was a sport on chasing dick—you’d surely take gold. 

**Knock. Knock. Knock— _knock_.**

“Simon, _psst_ —!” You whisper. “I’m here for my dick appointment.” 

The silence on the other side of the door is taunting. You call out to him again. 

“Welp.” Where the hell was Simon?

It wasn't the first time a locked door had stood between you and something you wanted. Producing a bobby pin from your hair, you endeavor to jimmy the lock. There’s a slight ‘tick’ and the door swings open. 

He’s nowhere to be found. He could’ve been on guard duty or somewhere in the factory but that didn’t seem right. His room was messy. Correction, messier than usual and the residual aura of the room indicated that he might have left in a rush. 

Why wouldn’t he tell you where he was going? Didn’t people in relationships…people who said ‘I love you’ tell each other everything?

“That rat-bastard.” Dropping your bag of goodies at the front of his bed, a slight tug and the sexy bra you’d worn for this occasion becomes undone. “No good piece of shit…” 

Oh well, he’d be back soon enough from wherever he’d gone for the moment. But what to do until then…?

On cue, your stomach rumbles signaling that skipping dinner to forge through the Sanctuary’s consignment shop for kinky sex objects hadn’t been that good of a decision in hindsight. 

_Make him wait_ , you decide. Slipping his discarded hoodie on you make your way to the kitchen. 

There isn’t much but leftover spaghetti from earlier, so you quickly nuke it and nibble on a cold roll as you wait.  

“It’s better warm.”

“Agh, fuck!” You clutch your pounding heart. Your bread roll goes sailing across the room. “Crap on a cracker, Negan. What the hell are you doing skulking in the shadows like a damn emu?”

“An emu?” He looks mildly amused as he appears from the darkness with Lucille in hand.

“The best I could do on short notice.” You sniff. Damn it, that’d been the last roll.

“Grabbing dinner?”

“Yep...” Not wanting to make Simon wait any longer, you edge towards the door. The man had the stamina and determination of a kangaroo and knowing him you’d be up all night. Um, wait. Ew. “I should get going.” You mumble with a slight grimace. The thought of Simon with the body of a kangaroo is somewhat unappealing.

His question makes you pause. Obviously, he wanted to talk. “How’s the mapping coming along? We’re gonna need them sooner than expected.”

“How soon?”

“Shit, I’d say in the next day or so. Simon’s supposed to send word—”

“Simon left already?” Rage. White hot rage, then something else. An underlying current of hurt. Betrayal?

Clearing your throat, you say, “Shit, that’s soon. I’ll have them by tomorrow."

“Hey, um…before you go…” You’d never seen Negan like this, so bashful and uncertain. It was disconcerting. Like seeing a parent cry. They were always so confident and all mighty in your eyes, you’d never factored weakness into your image of them. 

“Yeah, Negan? What’s up?” If anything his problem could distract you from the seething anger that was boiling in your veins. But, why? Why did a part of you yearn to strip down to nothing but his t-shirt and crawl beneath his sheets?

“How do you know you’re not just fucking anymore?” 

“Come again?”

“L-o-v-e.” He juggles the word, “Fuck, Y/N. I’m talking about love. When do you know its love?”

Well, shit, things just got interesting.

“You’re in love?” Pardon your astonishment. 

Lucille comes crashing down onto the metal of the counter with a resounding thud. “How the _fuck_ do I know if you won’t tell me?” You barely flinch.

“Ok, fuck.” Negan’s friendship should come with the risk warning of whiplash, you know, from all his fucking mood swings. A helmet, you should invest in a helmet.

Or at least a neck brace.

“…and since you two are the happiest fucking couple I know. I figured, why not.”

Letting out a long, drawn-out sigh you set the Tupperware of spaghetti next to his slumped figure before grabbing two forks. 

“Here.” You offer him one.

Stabbing some noodles with a fork, he follows your lead.

“Spaghetti’s my favorite.” He mumbles after a moment.

“I know.”

“I think you’re my best friend.” For some reason, he sounds completely mystified and the statement comes out more like a question. 

Huh? Seemed about right. Negan had always had this way about him when it came to you. In the past, he’d flirted and you’d rejected his advances but somewhere along the line, it’d given way to something else entirely. Doing a brief rundown of the last couple of months, you realize now, what it was.

Banter.

“Fuck,” You groan. Negan _was_ your best friend and in a fucked up way you cared for him. Over the past couple of weeks, integrating you into his inner circle and seeking your opinion, he’d been trying to show you the same, “I know. You’re my best friend, too.” 

Now you were lying to both of your closest friends—great. Just fucking great. 

“Aren’t best friends supposed to give advice?” He hedges.

“Love can be really fucking complicated and sometimes it’s hard to open up because of personal experiences.” A deep, yet shallow breath.  He looks puzzled by your point but listens anyway. “Take my parents for example.”

“Daddy issues?”

You give him a cynical smile, stealing the noodles from his fork before speaking. “More like mommy issues. My dad owned a construction company. Very successful shit. He dabbled mostly in the restoration of landmarks. Have you ever heard of _Restitutio & Co._?”

“Damn, wasn’t that one of the biggest construction companies in Virginia?”

“Yeah, his name was George. Daddy made a shit ton of money but he’d come from humble beginnings and that’s how he’d raised me.” You make a sweeping gesture for emphasis. “He always brought me to work with him. Said a man who couldn’t get his sleeves dirty, level with his workers wasn’t right to lead a company’.”

“Smart man.” He agrees.

“He was. Humble, too. But my mom was a fucking piece of work. Born into money. She basically trapped my father and he did what any honorable gentleman does and married her. My dad was my world.” You breathe quietly into the open room. “ I hated my mother, all she did was cheat on my father and spend his money. He stayed in that loveless marriage for me because he knew she'd take me if given the chance. He said, "Y/N, love doesn't always come to you in conventional forms, that's how it gets yah'...”

“Don’t cry. You’ll ruin my badass image of you.” He lightly teases. You hadn’t realized you were crying.

“Alright, fucker,” You sniff wiping away the last of your tears, “your turn.”

“Lucille,” Negan starts heavily, “she was always too good for me and I fucked it up. Stayed out all night, cheated on her. I wasn’t there when she needed me the most.”

“Okay, so in a roundabout way," You shrug, “what I’m trying to say is that we can love no matter what type of fucked up shit the world throws at us. Do you find yourself sitting up straighter when she enters a room?”

“Ren. Her name is Ren.”

“Your new wife? The same one that turned your laundry pink?” Holy shit you’d have to meet this woman and shake her hand. You’d been too busy getting dicked down to realize the subtle changes in Negan demeanor. He was in love and falling fast. 

He throws his head back, an exasperated laugh before lifting up the leg of his jeans. A pink sock. “I stand at goddamn attention.”

“Do you find your mind straying to thoughts of her? Kind of like on autopilot. How to make her laugh? Smile?”

Edward Cullen, much? He roughly rakes his hand through his hair, pulling at the roots as he stares off into seemingly nowhere. “I baked her brownies cause she said she missed the smell of her mother’s baking.”

“Fucking adorable.” You can’t help but comment. “One last question. Do they make this life, less shitty than it already is? It’s kind of…taboo, you know? To talk about the dark shit that’s always creeping at the back of our minds. Goddamnit, Negan.” Looking into his eyes, you earnestly beseech him, “It’s a rarity to find a person who hasn’t watched someone they love die, we’re all haunted by our demons. Does she make you smile, when the world had given you every fucking reason not to?” 

He quiets for a long time before finally saying, “Yeah. I mean, yes, she does.”

“Then act like a fucking man, grow a pair and don’t toss away a rarity. It’s okay to be scared because believe me…I am too—everyone is. But we’re the minority, don’t you see? We’ve found people who we can love, make us get up in the morning and keep living.” You’re suddenly exhausted, it’s not him and it's not Simon. You’re angry at yourself for running away and not telling Negan the truth. It could be so easy but again you’re running. 

Squeezing his arm, you stand up, “Show her you love her. An act of faith usually works. Maybe…ditch the harem of women in your bedroom closet. Chicks don’t usually like to share a dick. Trust me, I know.”

He looks up, suddenly perplexed like he’s about to say something before simply thanking you. 

You’re honestly curious. “How’d your wife die by the way?”

“Cancer took her before the dead could. Your father?”

“My mom had a boyfriend, guess he was tired of being the side piece, so he came to our house one day. He shot my father. I came downstairs and there he was.” You continue, ignoring the blatant look of dread on Negan's face. “Um, he saw me and told me to sit down while he figured out what the fuck he was going to do. Guess he panicked, uh, my dad turned and bit him. So I shot them _both_ and then…shot my mom when her back was turned.”

“Was she bitten?”

You shake your head. She’d been alive.

“Night, Negan.”

“Night.”

You leave him to think.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this story is almost done and i'm shaking. i don't want this happiness to end. okay, also! thank you so much to everyone who has taken the time to leave kudos and reviewed. they signify so much to me! x

“Did I mention that he left— _without_ telling me!”

“Only a thousand times,” Arat mumbles absentmindedly, her eyes trained on the road.

Crossing your arms protectively around yourself, you consider the blurred scenery that whizzes past your window. “Love sucks, Rat. You put yourself out there and…I don’t know…get your heart stomped on.”

She only grunts in response before saying, “Tell me about it.” 

“Trouble in paradise?” You wonder. 

Was everyone struggling with their love life lately? First, Negan and now Arat. Who was next?

“Lauren isn’t content with just sex.” She glances your way before turning her attention back to the road. “She wants me to leave you…and be with her. But it’s complicated, you know?”

“Isn’t it always.” You stress.

“Don’t I know it,” She agrees. “How about we just run away together and start this lesbian facade at a different settlement.”

It’s tempting. You won’t lie. 

But you were always running away from your problems and it was getting so tiring. 

“I’ll tell him, Arat. I swear.” God, you were selfish. Not only were you hurting yourself but your best friend's relationship. This had to be a record. 

“Hey,” She softly touches your shoulder so that you look up, “No one’s perfect. Take your time. If Lauren’s not content with being my side hoe for the time being—screw her.”

You both absorb the absurdity of her statement before bursting into a fit of laughter.

“Oh, shit!” Wiping a tear from your eye, you regard her with a small smile. “We’re going to hell.”

“I’ll save you a seat in the back.” She gleams.

Pursing your lips and turning in the passenger seat, you regard her, “Grown-up talk for a moment? I’m _going_ to tell Negan. Like, _today_ , this charade is exhausting and borderline toxic. Are you ready for  the consequences?”

She considers the question for a moment, “Ready as I’ll ever be. What about you? Gonna miss sharing a bed with me?” 

“You hog all the blankets, but yeah.” You offer a weak smile. The idea of admitting you’d been lying to Negan this whole time makes you nauseous. Would he still want to be friends with you afterward? “I have no idea how to even broach the subject with Negan, though." 

“Well,” She glances down at the dashboard, “you’ve had almost seven hours in the car to think about what you’re going to tell him. We’re here.”

Here, is a sparse field in the middle of a wooded area. There are already tents set up and just several years away you can spot Simon’s truck. Damn it. Your heart speeds up at just the sight of it. 

You force yourself, no matter how much it kills you, to push away thoughts of Simon and focus on the task at hand.

Before you can get out the car to unload and meet with your team, Arat grabs your arm. “Y/N, I don’t want you to be internally beating yourself up for what’s happening. It’s not just you. I’m afraid to put myself out there again, that’s on me. You’ve been my security blanket.”

You hate being emotional but even more, you hate seeing your best friend cry. “Hey,” Gripping her hand you regard her solemnly, “take your time with her, okay? And if she even lays a finger on you in a way that you don’t like _minutely_ …I’ll kill her.”

“Negan will help you hide the body.” She returns your embrace, softly squeezing your arm. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

The loud thumping on the hood of Arat’s car makes you both jump apart. It’s Negan. 

Of course…

“Negan, you shithead!” Arat curses loudly, hopping out of the car and rushing around the hood of the vehicle. “You better not have scratched my car, or I swear I’ll be taking one of your wives as retribution.” She puts her head close to the car to inspect the paint. 

“Wife.” 

“Come again?” You inquire, coming to stand beside Negan.

“You heard me. _**Singular**_. Wife.” He enunciates each word with a smile on his face. He seems lighter and—damn! You’d be lying if you said you’re not completely taken by surprise. You’d fully expected him to screw it all up.

“Holy shit! Never thought I’d see the day when you’d commit. I’ve met Ren, don’t fuck it up.” Arat simply says before catching someone’s eye over your shoulder and sauntering away. 

“An act of faith?” You ask when Rat’s out of earshot.

“I owe you,” He utters back, completely serious now that there are no prying eyes. 

“Well, now that you mention it.” You’re heart rate suddenly picks up. Maybe this isn’t the right time, but when is it ever? “Negan, I need to tell you—”

“Negan! I need you to look at the schedule for…” Simon’s voice trails off as you come into his view. You can’t help but give him a stink eye. Fuck him and his stupid, handsome face and fuck the bulging muscles peeking from his rolled up shirt sleeves.

“I should find my guys,” You mumble.

 _Don’t be passive aggressive. Don’t be passive aggressive and say anything that might let on how you feel…_ You chant to yourself. 

“You _know.._? The people who are going to have my back on this mission **_and_** will tell me where they’re going _regardless_.” You huff.

You give yourself a mental pat on the back. 

“Damn straight.” Negan agrees, seemingly oblivious to the mini stare off you’re currently having with Simon. “Let me know if those dense fuckers give you a hard time, hun.” He lays a brief hand on your shoulder. The only odd thing is he looks at Simon when he does it, a minute detail that escapes you. 

Deciding to fuck with him you squeeze Negan’s hand, letting it linger as you say, “Thanks, boss. I know I can _always_ count on you.”

Simon’s eyes narrow minutely, pining you with his intense gaze. 

“Hello, hello. Hello!” A cheerful voice punctuates the tension. Turning your head, you observe a small statured woman with a head full of wild ebony curls pushed back with a red bandanna. “Hope I’m interrupting something interesting! Oh, shit! Negan?” She bounds into Negan’s outstretched arms before you can get a good look at her face. 

“Thank fuck, you’re here!” She let’s go, slapping him playfully on the chest. “This field is in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere—lord knows we could use some drama, what?—you couldn’t pick a field next to an amusement park or a Starbucks, maybe? Fuck, I miss iced coffee.” She moans.

“Keira,” He motions to you before gesturing to the beguiling woman. She has this way about her, sort of trusting and warm. Plus, she barely glances Simon’s way so you guess that she’s not an imminent threat. Not that you’re threatened. You could easily hold your own, “this is Y/N, you’ll be the arms for her group.”

The woman in question cocks her head towards you, revealing her friendly face and the ten-inch scar that mars her mahogany tinted skin. It runs the length of her right eye before disappearing just below her ear.

“I know who she is, Negan!” She rolls her eyes in a way that’s vaguely familiar. 

“Hey, boss!” She sticks out a hand for you to take. Her grip is soft, yet firm. You like her immediately. “Coach said that you might need some help getting the lights on. I’m good with my aim and I know a thing or two about wiring. Rat sent me over to get your toolbox and show you where to set up.”

Your brow furrows. “Coach?” 

“Oh, I thought…” She glances at Negan with uncertainty but he shrugs off her worried look.

“Need to know, darling.” He answers, placing a kiss on her cheek.

“Darling?” You blurt out, now completely confused. You’ve never seen Negan so... _affectionate_. Who was this woman? And could she come to visit more often so that the stick lodged in Negan’s ass could take some time off to visit family? “Have I walked into the fucking _Twilight Zone_?” 

“Oh, I like her! She says what’s on her mind.” Keira grabs your toolbox from the back of Rat’s Jeep before tugging you away from the car. 

Away from Simon who looks slightly resentful. 

While you walk, Keira talks a mile a minute filling you in on minute details. Like how she’s stationed at the Reston outpost that her husband is in charge of. 

“How do you know, Negan?” You inquire after a moment. You’re nearing a long strip of tables that are shielded by serval outdoor canopies.

“Oh, Negan.” She shrugs. “He worked at my high school and when the world went to shit he looked out for me. I’ve been by his side ever since. Well,” She hums, “at least until Reed—my husband—came to visit the factory a little over a year ago. Love, you know?” You agree because you do know. “Anyway Negan’s kind of like the step-dad I never wanted but I got-t- _t_ because…well…mom and dad never came to pick me up from ping-pong practice after school.” She waves away the details.

“Huh?” Is your only response. 

Patting your arm comfortingly, she continues, “I’m only telling you this because Negan said it’s okay. Not many people know of his past. He must trust you a lot. I know it’s weird but he’s not good at showing emotions. He shows it in ways that take time to understand.”

“I’ve seen,” You answer dryly, “he’s sure got a way of showing that he cares.” 

“But when he asked Reed and I to go on this run, I knew that this,” She waves to the surrounding camp, “is his way of making sure that all of the people he loves have his back. He’s always treated Arat and I differently from the others and I think—”

Halting in your tracks, you ask, “ _Wait_ , you know Rat?”

“Oh, shit! She didn’t tell you.” She doesn’t look surprised. “I thought you at least knew of their connection…”

You’d always known there was something that had happened between Arat and Negan, you just never thought it’d be to this caliber. “It’s fine. I just need a moment, okay?” It’s not fine. How could she leave out such a major detail?

“Fuck, Y/N.” She looks genuinely distressed, what for, you’re unsure of. “I understand that you need a moment and we’ll be waiting. Just know…Arat and Negan are very private people. I should know, they're my family. They’ve both been hurt a lot and so have I. Before Negan found the factory,” She shakes her head, almost as if to banish the memories, “um, it wasn’t easy. We keep each other’s secrets, okay? So if she didn’t tell you some parts of her past it might not have been hers to solely tell?” With a firm yet watery smile she releases your arm.

Despite the situation, her words calm you. You could never be mad at Arat. How could you be mad at her when you could barely reveal your own sordid past? Still, you needed some space and you tell her as much. Giving her a shaky smile you wave off her concern and head towards the wooded area. 

It isn’t long until you sense his presence. You continue forward into the sanctuary of the woods. The sound of your footsteps is angry, trampling everything in its path, while his are patient and confident, quickly outdoing your strides. 

His arms quickly seize you in an unyielding grip, spinning and pressing your curves against every inch of his hard chest. “Are you mad at me?” He nuzzles the skin below your ear, chasing away the chill of the rapidly approaching night.

“What do you think?” You sniff. 

Try as you might, you can’t resist the puff of air that you release from your mouth. Like you’d been holding a deep breath since he’d left. No matter how much you want to resist, you melt into his capable hands. 

“I’m so sorry, honey.” He coos, kneading the tension with his thumbs from your lower back. “What can I do?” His pointer fingers dig into the curve of your ass. 

“You can grovel.” He backs you slowly into a tiny clearing, waiting for the catch-22. “To _start_.”

“Grovel?” Your back brushes against the branches of a tree and you know he’s done this on purpose. “Like on my knees?”

With a sly smile, he drops to his knees without another word. You’re left breathless at the sight. How was this fair? Just one look at him could undo your sanity.

“You can’t just fuck the anger out of me every time you piss me off, you know?” You point out. Although you’ll burn in hell for sure, you don’t stop his advances. 

“Can’t I?” He halts his ministrations on your belt. When you don’t bother to respond, he sighs, studying your stoic expression. Saying after a moment, “I had to leave in a rush. It was last minute but that’s no excuse for my shitty actions, honey. I should have gotten a message to you somehow. I love you and I never want you to think you’re not the first and _last_ thought on my mind each day.” His eyes shine with genuine sincerity. 

“Alright.” Swallowing heavily, you beckon to your belt loop. “I love you, too. Keep groveling.” You bite your lip.

“A position that I should get used to, huh?” Your laugh is cut short by a moan as he tugs away the last remaining barrier between his tongue and your clit. 

“Oh, shit! Simon,” He doesn’t waste any time, pressing his lips against your sodden folds as he works his mouth harder between your thighs. The pressure on your clit has you grasping for purchase against the tree, pushing firmly against his mouth as he devours you.  

It doesn’t take long.

“I’m cumming,” You gasp, the inner walls of your sex grasp at his fingers.

“I know, baby.” Kissing your bare hip bone, he quickens his fingers, beckoning, “Let it out.” 

Grasping at the crown of his bead, you’re pretty sure that he winces from your grip, you pull him tighter against your quivering frame while you ride out your orgasm. “More,” You beg. You’ll always beg for more. You could never get enough of him. 

“Hush, honey.” He places a sweet kiss on the tip of your nose before slowly turning your body to face away from him. “I know what you need, baby. Put your hands here for me. We have to be quick, okay?”

He arranges you to his liking, wrapping your palms around a tall branch so that you’re raised up onto your toes and your back arches bringing your rear closer to his groin. You feel everything. The moment he loosens his belt buckle. The sagging of his pants as he shuffles forward. 

Exposed and dripping in the middle of the woods. You want this. 

“So fucking warm, honey.” He’ll leave bruises on your hip. But, oh fuck, it’s worth it as he begins to move. A steady rhythm that resonates with your core. His warm length rubs every crevice of your inners, nudging you further along to that dark place of rapturous pleasure. “Feel what I’m doing to you?” He pants into your ear.

“Ung, yes!” The soft mewls you release mingle with his low grunts of appreciation. One hand delves between your thighs which the other methodically plucks at your nipples until you’re gripping the tree branch in your grasp to the point of pain. 

“Are you there?”

“Close,” You huff, your eyes had been clenched shut up until this point. Its been so long. You want to be closer. He senses this, retreating from your body. He pushes your flushed chest against his own.

He’s got this look in his eyes. This adoration that makes you feel like anything and everything you do is the most important thing to him. How could you ever be mad at him? Well, shit. You were so royally screwed in the best way. 

“Oh, **_shit_**!” You yelp, making direct eye contact with the unexpected eavesdropper over his shoulder. In an attempt to do damage control, you repel from Simon’s grip, pushing your shirt down and fixing your hair. It’s too fucking late. They know what you’ve done. How long?

She dashes off before you can say anything.

Simon is immediately on high alert, glancing around hastily to find the source of your worry. “What? What the fuck?” 

Your eyes must be the size of saucers as you look back into his befuddled and anxious gaze. 

“Lauren.” You breathe. 


	12. Chapter 12

“Hey, feeling better?” Keira meets you halfway on your trek, hooking your arm with hers before steering you towards a long strip of tables and chalkboards shielded by canopies.  You’d wanted to be extra careful so you’d waited almost twenty minutes after Simon had left before following him. To say he’d been pissed was an understatement. Once again, you’d found yourself begging for more time. You’d tell Negan. Soon. It would have to be very soon. 

You give her a weak smile unsure if you should just admit that your life has quite literally become a soap opera gone wrong—and not the mid-season finale, small cliffhanger gone wrong, either! You’re talking, season nine, _farewell_ season finale. And to top it all off, your orgasm had been cut short.

You’d had enough of this cruel, cruel world. Truly! Fuck you needed to find Lauren—ASAP! What she could do with that information—fuck all! Your mind had been playing a shit ton of small scenarios in your head, each with very big outcomes.

Messy outcomes. 

Disastrous- _fucking_ -outcomes!

Some that ended up with you going into exile. 

Fucking excommunication—circa 1521 exile!

“Me. You. Arat. Your tent after dinner.” She gives you a meaningful look before releasing a sharp whistle upon reaching your group’s assigned working quarters. The group of huddled men unfurls from their hunched positions over the work table to regard you with vague indifference.

“Listen up, you dense bunch of fuckers,” It’s like you’re staring at a different person. Gone is the warm aura, replaced by a hardened exterior that makes you do a doubt take. “This is Y/N. She’s an unfamiliar face, _yes_ —but that doesn’t mean you won’t give her the same goddamn respect you give Reed and I.” She continues. 

The group of men gives a collective grunt of acknowledgment. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.” She says, turning to you with an earnest expression. You’re left wondering why she’s so _sorry_. Sucking in a lungful of air, she omits a sharp whistle that makes you and the group of men grab their ears. “Try that again, fuckers. And this time…say it like you mean it.” The ‘or else’ hangs in the and the men, who you should note are almost twice the size of Keira, fall over themselves to greet you properly. They even throw in a ma’am. 

Holy shit. You’d befriended the female version of Negan. 

“Alright…” Clapping your hands together weakly, you take the position at the head of the table, recognizing the schematics that you’d spent the last couple of days carefully mapping out. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

Keira gives you a thumbs up while absentmindedly toying with a switchblade. You were starting to understand why she’d been assigned to be the ‘arms’ of your group. 

By the time you’ve taken your team through their part of the run tomorrow—eight times, just to be sure—you’re more than comfortable in your leadership position and with Keira as your co-captain. Still, you can’t shake the feeling of guilt that settles on your skin like freshly fallen snow. It only gets heavier as the day drags on. At dinner, you barely touch the food on your plate and disappear while the fire is still roaring and glasses are still clinking. All it takes is just one glimpse of Lauren and you’re scrambling towards your tent. 

It’s modest-sized tent and away from the night’s festivities so that you’re able to properly stew in your shitty consequences. Stuck in that awkward phase of not wanting to sleep just yet but feeling kind of exhausted, you leisurely par ooze your schematics one last time to make sure everything is in order. 

You aren’t alone for long.

“Psst, Y/N!” You recognize her voice instantly. Moments after fussing with the zipper of the tent, Keira’s face comes into view. The bottle of wine comes shortly after. “I brought wine! You know..? Cause it’s easier to admit your wrongdoings when you’re just a _titch_ wasted.”

She unzips the tent door fully to reveal Arat with an armful of snacks. “Peace offering?” Arat smiles sheepishly. You smile back to let her know there aren’t any hard feelings. 

“We brought all the ingredients for smores. We don’t have a fire, so there’s _that._ ” Your tent is suddenly filled with smothered laughter and grunts as the three of you arrange yourselves into a tight semi-circle. 

“Okay, I’m pretty good at reading social queues.” Keira starts, finally settled. “So I know somethings going on with you and Simon. Also, we hate Lauren..?” She gives you an intuitive look. 

“Yes to the first. _Eh_ , to the last. It’s pending.” You can’t help but bite your lip in glee despite the situation you’d found yourself in. You can already tell that Keira was fit seamlessly into your dynamic. You three were officially a trio. “Is it obvious, though? Not the Lauren thing, but the whole me and Simon debacle.” You wonder aloud. 

She waves her hand as if to bat away your concern, “Only if you’re a nosy fucker like me. Plus it’s kind of my brand.” She shrugs.

Arat quickly interjects. “Keira thinks because she’s able to correctly guess the outcome of  _Law and Order_ episodes, she was destined to be a detective.”

Keira shoots up from her reclined position on the floor, carelessly shouting, “This freaking apocalypse took me out of my prime. Y/N, I practiced my aim at the local shooting range _every weekend_. I hardly had enough time to chase dick! I’m talking zero socialization.” With pursed lips she turns to Arat, snatching the bag of marshmallows from her grasp. “I’ll have you know I was destined to be a detective…climb the ranks to lieutenant…”

“Please,” Arat groans, “you paid more attention to Christopher Meloni’s ass than the actual plot. This coming from the person who had a SWAT team called to her house—not once, but twice!”

“I like watching things explode.” Keira cries in defense. “And a good cop is well rounded. How many time did Meloni’s _fine_ ass find himself in a situation with bombs? Too many!”

“It was a great ass.” You agree, stuffing a graham cracker into your mouth. 

“Okay, back to your little white lie.” Keira points at both you and Arat. “Give me the unabridged narrative! What have I missed?”

Arat looks uncertainly at you before admitting, “Y/N and I pretended to be lesbians so that she could avoid Negan’s advances.”

“How long?” She gapes at the two of you.

“A little under a year?” You guess. 

“Holy-fucking- _shitballs,_ Batman!” She reverently whispers. “You bitches could have totally gotten a slot on _Nightline_.”

“That’s not all, sweetheart. Get a load of this fucked up karma.” Nibbling on a marshmallow, she eagerly beckons for you to continue. “I have feelings for Simon. I’m in love with him, but I can’t openly be with him until I admit to Negan—whos now become a pretty close friend—that I’ve been lying to his face the whole time.”

“I might be in love with Lauren!” Arat pitches in. 

“Fuck, we need to open this bottle of wine then, huh?” She mumbles. 

“None for me,” You decline, but Arat accepts, taking the bottle. “If Lauren’s gonna throw some shit at me, I wan’a be on my game.”

“What about Lauren?” Arat inquires, mid-swig. 

“Um, she kind of caught Simon and I…erm, fucking…in the woods.” You admit sheepishly. 

“Reston life is so fucking boring compared to this soap opera.” Keira groans. 

Wanting the attention off of you and your mistakes, you attempt to redirect, “Want to explain how you two know each other?”

Setting down the bottle of wine, Arat grabs your hand with an almost faraway look in her eyes. “I wanted to tell you, I really did, Y/N.”

“I know,” You reassure Arat. “Some parts just weren’t yours to tell.”

“Negan thought it would be better if people didn’t know the extent of our past.” She continues. “It would make Keira and I targets.”

“Negan gave me the all clear.” Keira points out, shaking her head. “Of course he’d send us to do his dirty work. The man hates talking about his feelings.”

“Can’t blame him,” Arat mumbles, talking a long drink from the wine bottle. “It’d been just another school day. Coach Negan held ping-pong practice on Wednesdays…”

“And Tammy McLamens hadn’t been feeling too well during practice. They thought she had the flu. Me? I for sure thought it was mono.” Keira continues for her when she lapses into silence. “Long story made super _fucking_ short. We held up in the gymnasium waiting for our parents. They never came and Coach had the bright idea to steal a bus. There were more of us…but…you know…” Nibbling her lip in consideration, she brightens. “I almost forgot about Kevin, though! He’s also been with us from the beginning. He’s on Simon’s team. Doesn’t talk much.” She dishes. 

“Speaking of Simon.” Arat mumbles. “Seems like you’ve more than made up, hmm?” 

You make a hand gesture that roughly equates to ‘more or less’.

Keira tosses out thoughtfully, “If you’re still mad, you could peg him. Reed and I—”

“You peg Reed?”  Arat splutters, clutching the neck of the wine bottle in her fists. My, oh my. The image that comes to mind is certainly interesting. You had gotten the chance to meet Reed during dinner. A hulking mass of muscle, that loomed over Keira’s tiny frame at upwards of six feet tall; dark hair and hardened grey eyes. You thought for sure it’d be the other way around. Although, she did bark out orders like a drill sergeant on crack.  

“How does that work?” Your curiosity is piqued, truly. Maybe you’d let Simon off the hook a little too easy?

“Easy,” With a shit eating grin that reminds you vaguely of Negan’s, she makes a spectacle before speaking, “it’s all in the form. First, I like to make him tell me what he did wrong. Really look me in the eyes…”

“You’ve spent way too much time with Negan.” Arat hiccups, interrupting. 

“And you’ve drunk too much wine,” She suddenly realizes. “We should probably get you into bed, huh?” 

“Need any help?” You offer, despite every fiber in your being suddenly screaming exhaustion. 

“Nah,” She winks, grabbing Arat by the arm. “I’ve got this cleanup job. See you, tomorrow.” She turns to leave. 

“Wait, Keira. Do you think I’m a bad person?” The sudden question hangs in the air, moments before she’s finished zipping the tent entirely closed. 

You appreciate that rather than rushing to quell your uneasy thoughts she considers the question first. “I think you’re dealing with a difficult situation in the best way you can. I’m not saying that what you’ve done is the best decision. But you were put in that situation _because_ of Negan and I can understand your hesitancy. Make him see what is so clearly in front of him. He’s listened to you before, hasn’t he? I love him, Y/N. I really do. Just talk to him.”

Talk to him. Just talk to him. You consider Keira’s advice long after they’d gone, picking up spare food wrappers and brushing the crumbs from your makeshift bed. Easier said than done.

The slight rasp at your tent door pulls you from your dwelling. Your mind easily jumps to Keira. You’d found her switchblade while you’d been cleaning up. 

“Come in, Keira. Why so shy all of a sudden?” You call out. She fumbles with the zipper for a moment before stepping past the threshold and towards the weak light of the lantern in your tent. “Lauren?”

“I’m only going to say this once!” She whispers reverently. “End your relationship with Arat.”

“Okay, okay. Just calm down.” You consider the likelihood of her being an actual threat, thumbing the switchblade behind you back thoughtfully. A _rat would be pissed. But all my problems would just disappear in the breeze._

“No, I won’t calm down. Don’t you see how goddamned selfish you’re being? I love her. You don’t!” Her last words are broken and for a moment you can see the actual person behind the bravado she’s always projecting. Ashy blonde hair and cold green eyes. They would make a beautiful couple. If only she wasn’t hellbent on destroying you in the process. 

“You’re no better.” You sneer. “This is my relationship, Lauren. Stay out of it. You think I don’t know what you’re doing, too?” For a moment she’s taken off guard. 

“End it,” She threatens, “or else I will. And you won’t like the way it’ll come out. Negan’s OTP is nothing more than a lie? You’re sleeping with both his left and right hand? I’m sure he won’t appreciate that…no matter what side he takes.” She goes without another word.

You were getting tired of doing this. Trying to hold together the fragmented shards of an already obliterated foundation, made of lies and unfulfilled promises. 

It was too late, now. But you’d tell Negan as soon as the McCormick mission was over and pray to the heavens that Lauren didn’t do anything in the time being. 

The rasping at your tent door, yet again, has you on edge. This time the person on the other side doesn’t even announce themselves before they begin tugging at the zipper. What was it about tonight? Your tent had never seen so much action. 

“Hey, hun.” Simon pokes his head through with an easy smile, surveying your small quarters. “Not bunking with Rat?”

“Trouble in paradise,” You huff. Briefly, you’d informed him of the love triangle you’d found yourself in after Lauren had turned and sprinted. Once you’d explained her interest in Arat, he’d calmed. There was nothing to worry about, at least not now with the McCormick mission on the horizon. She wouldn’t do something that would risk Negan’s wrath, he’d assured you. So why is it that you’d felt more uneasy as the hours ticked away? “What are you doing here? Are you trying to get caught spelunking around my tent?”

“Nah,” He zips the tent closed with a wink before shedding his shirt. “I came to finish what we started.”

Now, as a grown woman of twenty-something years of age. You’d lost cost, _whatever_. You possessed the mental capacity to know what was right and what was wrong. Hence, what your momma had told you many, many times. There was a time and place for certain behaviors.

You should be telling Simon what Lauren had said to you only minutes before. Take time to consider what you could both tell Negan. 

But the protest on your lips become stripped away as begins to undo the buckle of his belt. Your lips go dry. Had it always been this warm in your tent?

“Okay,” You have barely enough time to answer before he crashes his lips to yours in a fevered kiss. “Fuck, Simon!” He nips at your lips, pulling you closer so that he can taste the skin of your neck. He’ll leave bruises. But, oh god. You’ll cherish each and every one of them in hell. 

“Think you can be quiet, sweetheart?” Your vision of him, face flushed and eyes darkened is temporarily taken away when he tugs your shirt over your head. “I want you like this, one last time.”

“Depends,” You want more than anything to let out a weeping moan of satisfaction and frustration, all in one, “on how hard you fuck me.”

“How do you want me, honey?” He dips briefly, taking an erect bud into his warm mouth until it has you writhing. You reach for him. Grabbing at his hair and the curve of his back. Anything to keep him close. 

Gasping quietly, you smother a deep groan into his neck as the suction increases. “On my back,” You groan when it finally becomes too much. 

Laying you across the makeshift bead, he presses forward, tugging at your jeans until you’re bare. You understand why he wants this. The thrill and the intensity of it all. You’re so worked up that he doesn’t bother to even tease you, instead placing the warm head of his dick at your entrance as you buck in anticipation. 

“Please.” A plea in its rawest form. 

“How do you want it?” Stabbing your clit with the tip of his member, he begins a slow grind. Grasping coils of your hair so that you look nowhere but at him. “Tell me how you want me to fuck you, Y/N.”

Your cry of raw need is cut short by the rough fabric that he forces into your mouth. The damp crotch of your panties muffling your moans. You can taste yourself. Musky and floral. You swallow a groan as his hands take possession of your hips. Pulling you further into his lap, spread and needy. Your legs splay out precariously in the air as the saliva on your skin dries in the cool night air, leaving goosebumps on your flushed skin. 

“Tell me, honey. Hard?”

A nod.

He raises up on his haunches and in one deep and brutal thrust, kisses the entrance of your womb as you scramble for purchase. “You didn’t say how fast, baby.” Hooking your legs on his elbows, he rears back, slamming forward with enough force that slides you forth several inches.

“Good, baby?”

You’re pretty sure you’re drooling. But you nod nonetheless before his next thrust has your eyes rolling forward. He presses your knees even closer to your chest, hitting that _spot_ as he finally ends his tortuous pace. He quickens his hips as animalistic grunts fall from his lips. “Does it feel good, honey? It must be, your pussy’s practically drooling on my cock. Look at this.” He traces the path of your wetness. First, where you're joined, stretching wide to accommodate him. Then, a little lower.

You stiffen, gazing into his eyes. Attempting to temper your breathing so that you don’t choke on your own panties. He plays in your joined wetness. “You like that, don’t you?”

A tentative nod on your part.

The tip of his index finger slips into the entrance of your ass. It’s an odd pressure. But a good one as he begins to move again. You’ve never been this full. Moving in tandem on his cock and finger, it brings you to the brink of something so dark it scares you. You’re glad that you're gagged. You’d surely be screaming. 

“It’s all mine, isn’t it?” His pace hasn’t slowed, if anything it’s harsher, mercilessly throwing you off the edge of the cliff before he follows. Grunting his release, he pulls out and releases onto your stomach.

“What is?”

“Your heart, your pussy, and now your ass.” He squeezes each one for emphasis. 

“Mhm.” You can’t help but agree. “Stay with me for a little bit?”

“Always. No one’s going to take you from me.” He breathes the promise into your slick skin, pressing you closer until you’re unsure of where he ends and you begin. 

“Hey, Simon?” Snuggling deeper into his chest, you savor the feeling of security that he seems to radiate from him. It sinks into your bones, loosening the tension until you’re on the brink of unconsciousness. 

“Yeah, honey?”

“How do you feel about forgiveness pegging?” You yawn.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg, i know! an actual plot, this random story actually blossomed into something else entirely. we only have two more chapters, which are almost done, so get ready. x

****

“Hey, Rat?”

“Yeah, Y/N?”

“I’m done with the lies. That starts today…and I mean it.” How was it so much harder to do the right thing? To tell a simple truth? “My mother…she didn’t die like I told you she did. She wasn’t even bitten. I shot her,” You admit as you gaze up at the hulking building before you, “while her back was turned. I hated her and I wanted her to die.”

Some of the weight on your shoulders, a weight you hadn’t even realized was even there, falls away. 

You understand now. How easy it is to tell a lie, but more meriting to acknowledge the truth. The incentive. It is subtle in its doings, but it’s there in the way it makes you feel wholesome, content. 

Upon rising this morning, there’d been a moment of clarity on your part. The air had been cool and damp, an atmosphere that had instantly brought you back to your childhood. To the days when your father would put you in his beat-up truck each summer morning at the ass crack of dawn, before whisking you away to yet another construction site. You’d been suddenly ashamed. You’d felt your father’s presence in that very same moment.

All this time you’d been considering what your mother must think of you. But what of the person who really mattered to you, of the memories that you treasured the most? What would he have wanted?

_For there to be no more lies, no matter how little._

Beside you, Keira squeezes your shoulder as the static on the walkie increases. You could do this. No more running. You’re geared to hear whatever she has to say. “It’s alright, Y/N. We all have secrets…sometimes entangled with the secrets of others. It’s not really a lie if it’s half the truth, is it?”

“Love you, Rat.”

“Love you, too.” Your two-way walkie disconnects. There will be more truth to come, the storm only just beginning. 

The other walkie on your hip, the one connected to a network of others, hisses and Negan’s voice sounds on the airway. 

“Whatd’ya see, Regina?” Everyone waits, from each of their vantage points, for Regina and D.J. to report their findings. Wait to see if your schematics had been correct. 

They’d been on the first wave. 

Once everything was clear, your team would be on the second. In total, there were over eighty bodies going into this clusterfuck of a mission. 

“We made it past the first floor. Seems like they have some sort of interactive tour in the main part of the building.” His voice trails off considering the unknown. “It’s almost like a maze. Glass seems sturdy but exits are narrow. We’ll save it for last. Maintenance stairwells to the east and west.” He reports. 

“Biters?” You can’t resent Negan for being so brutish, more so than usual. He could easily be leading his people into a slaughter. From what the previous teams had come away with, there’d been no signs of activity on the outskirts of the factory. Still, that didn’t mean there weren’t biters lurking on the inside. 

The area was generally remote and you hadn’t allowed yourself to be this hopeful in years. 

It seemed almost too easy. 

“Only three, we took ‘em out quietly.” Regina’s voice comes onto the airway, a steady twang that makes you exhale the breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. 

“Civilians clothing?” Simon inquires, his voice is slightly husky through the radio. Damn, in less than so many hours he’d be yours. No more hiding and no more lies. 

Well, unless karma decided to snuff you out at the last moment. That’d just be…strangely ironic. 

“No, factory uniforms.” That was good. Really good. “We’ll make our way further back but we’re ready for the next wave.” 

“Second wave,” Negan’s tense drawl comes through the walkie, “take it nice and fucking easy.” He pauses. “Y/N?”

Your answer is immediate. “Yes, boss?”

“Get the lights on…” It isn’t a question and you’re so fucking tempted to roll your eyes. No shit. What else were you here for—to check out the drapes? “And I’ll owe you the biggest fucking favor, Y/N.” There’s a slight tremor in his voice when he says your name. 

Irony thy name is Negan. You’re going to hold him to that. Truly. 

The second wave is upwards of thirty men and women from what you’ve gathered, each penetrating the factory from different points of entry. 

Your team was to head straight through the main door. 

The entrance to the faded green building is still intact. You’d expected as much. The large fence that dominated it’s permitted only had minor breaches, which are being fixed as your team passes the threshold of the factory. Inside the factory, the air is instantly colder, saturated with something that you immediately try to identify.

It will come to you. Meanwhile, you have a job to do and a favor to cash-in, _eventually_. 

“It’s so wet in here.” Tyler nervously remarks, saddling his toolbox onto his other shoulder.

“Yeah, I know.” You mumble absentmindedly, drawing your map from the front pocket of your overalls to gain some perspective on where to start. “It’s probably a pipe.”

He daintily sniffs the air. “What is that smell?”

“Oh, shit...” This wasn’t good. Not one bit. If this was karma you definitely hadn’t expected her to throw this big of a fucking curveball. 

“Problem?” Keira’s dark eyes roam the obscured corners of the main floor, brow furrowed and gun cocked as the rest of your team waits for you to delegate. 

You pull out a pencil, dead set on fixing where you’d fucked up. “Yeah, cheap contractors. See that?” They follow your finger to the ceiling, your headlamps collectively coming to rest upon a set of exposed wires that thread into the exposed ceiling. “That’s a cheap trick that corporations use, kind of like a backup system. That way if one part of the factory goes down, the others can still run.”

Your small group crouches around the map of the McCormick factory that’d been conveniently left in the main lobby. Keira had spotted it underneath an overturned kiosk and you had been grateful for her sharp eyes. Taking the opportunity now to compare your schematics to the vague, yet accurate mapping. 

“So what are you saying? The main system isn’t where you thought?” From beneath his bushy eyebrows, Derek eyes you intently, carefully considering your words.

“She’s saying that there isn’t one,” Tyler omits frustrated, a prior electrician apprentice, someone finally begins to see what you see. Thank fuck!

“We’re going to have to split up.” You deduce. “Follow the wires until you find a circuit breaker box. There can’t be more than a handful. Remember what I taught you?” They all nod accordingly. “Good. If you need something or have a question, don’t hesitate to call one of us. A factory of this size...” You quickly crunch the numbers. “It’s going to take us a bit, but if we can assess the damage and get what lights we can to work, we’ll be straight.”

“There’s also six of us.” Keira points out. “Stay close. Derek and Liam are together. Carter, that leaves you with Tyler.” 

“Got it, boss. Should be a fucking walk in the park.” Tyler nods and the rest of them assure you that they’re more than comfortable in their roles. They each pick a maintenance corridor, delving further into the underbelly of the beast, leaving you and Keira with the tourist exhibit. 

Not wanting to beat around the bush, you quickly update Negan and the others of your current predicament. 

“Not even a main circuit breaker panel?” Negan inquires, clearly frustrated. 

“No, they’re split.” You’re clearly as frustrated as he is, maybe more. 

“We’re on the third floor, lights are on.” Regina’s voice cuts in through the small speaker.

“Fuck yeah! Alright, think you can get the main floor, Y/N?” You assure him that you’re working on it. As you speak, you and Keira carefully make the trek through the spacious lobby and towards what appears to be a self-guided tour of the history of the McCormick company. 

 **The Tour Starts Here** is written in overbearing blocked lettering. Below it, there’s a blood-spattered image of a black and white farm.

“I don’t have a good feeling about this,” Keira mutters, spurring you forward into the plexiglass maze. D.J. had been right, an escape would be narrow, very narrow. How the fuck did you always end up in these kinds of situations anyway?

“Fuck me.” You groan, stepping cautiously into the maze. “Let’s just get this shit over with.” 

Your boots make a squelching sound against the cheap carpet as the two of you continue further into the darkened exhibit. This place was seriously giving you the creeps and that was saying something since you weren’t one to shy away from difficult situations. 

From varied communications with your team, they’d informed you that they’d been able to get the electricity working on several of the other floors. If you could just push your unease aside, you were sure you could have this whole factory lit up by the end of the hour. 

The thought of being able to cash in Negan’s golden favor makes you move quicker.

“Holy shit. Do you see this?” Keira’s soft swearing pulls you from your paranoia-tinged musings. You really should be paying more attention to your surroundings as you’d fallen several steps behind her.

Her gaze is trained at her feet. You were right in your assumption that a pipe must have burst. Ankle deep water now softly laps at the base of your ankles as you join her where she stands. 

“Must be a pipe.” You shrug, squinting your eyes in concentration. From several feet up ahead, the bundled wires you’d been following along the exposed ceiling veers off sharply to the left. The thought of a pipe bursting was bringing back all your prior frustrations from Negan’s meeting several weeks ago. “Not a good sign but I think we’re close.”

“Why the hell would they hide a circuit breaker box in the middle of an exhibit?” 

“It’s not unusual,” You answer, “they do the same thing at amusement parks.”

She pauses, listening to something intently, “Do you hear that?”

You strain your hearing for a moment only to make out a slight, rhythmic thumping noise. Unfortunately, because of the glass that surrounds you on all sides and the soft rippling of water each time you move, it’s hard to pinpoint where it’s coming from. 

“Let’s just keep moving.” Drawing your weapon, you take the lead and she takes your six as you continue to trudge past displays of farmers and men in old-fashioned business suits. The pictures and the displays are more or less intact, the only indication of foul play is minuscule. The slight crookedness of a picture. A bloody handprint. Eventually, the exhibit makes another sharp turn that has you peering around a corner cautiously. The water is almost knee deep by the time you reach the roundabout and consequently, the source of the water.

“Heads up! Some of the doors seem to have needed key card entry. We’re trying to shut it off but the doors keep shutting and opening—think some of the wires might be crossed.” You listen intently to Tyler’s words over the airway and one by one, the other groups give a word of acknowledgment. “Any luck with the ground floor, Y/N?”

“Yeah,” Shining your headlamps around the spacious room, the feeling of dread clings to your skin and only seems to get thicker as you move forward. Exchanging a look with Keira over your shoulder, you murmur. “I think we’ve found something.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the last chapter, with an epilogue soon to come! fear not! smut is around the corner! x

When you were younger, your mother used to say that the experiences you put yourself through would make you the person you _wanted_ to be. It had nothing to do with fate or inner-workings of the heart—it was and always would be about the experiences. They'd make and mold you. 

It was the last thing she’d said to you before you killed her. 

Considering her words now, you realize they hadn’t meant to comfort you as you’d laid beside her dead body. Her last attempt to finally be a mother to you. Instead, it’d been her way of twisting the knife even deeper into your shattered heart. That experience _had_ made you, you could see that now. Into someone who was destined for karma, someone who would always be a liar. And if you didn’t make it out of this factory alive, that’s how you would be remembered. 

Fucking ironic. But you were no better than your mother. In all aspects, you were her. Living a double life and hurting everyone you were supposed to care about. 

The truth hurt.

But lies hurt worse.  

“What the hell happened in here?” You watch Keira inch along the permitter of the kiddy play area, a look of disgust on her face. One that probably matches yours.

“I think…” You plug your nose, stepping forward into the playroom as the smell of rotting flesh hits you full force. “I think someone brought their children here…to try and save them.”

The playroom had clearly once been a creation straight out of a child’s dream. 

A mural of rolling hills and farm animals. Play structures assembled to give the appearance of a farmer’s market. In the background, a sprawling climbing set hangs, suspended from the ceiling.

The scene before you is nothing more than a nightmare. 

The disembodied parts of several children hang from the rafters. A rotting arm. A tiny, bludgeoned foot, rests at the bottom of a slide in a pool of congealed blood. Further back, several busted pipes along the outer permitter of the playroom send a slow but steady stream of water into the room. The smell of mold and rot only seem to intensify.

“There,” You breathe, pointing to a portion of the wall that is slightly raised and blends in with its painted scenery. Shuffling through the water, you rip the panel of the circuit breaker box off, surveying the intact wires. Any longer in this room and you’d go fucking mad. Bad things had happened here. 

“We good?” The hopefulness bleeds from Keira’s words, but you're perceptive enough to note her worry. 

“Yeah,” You’ve never worked so fast in your life, stripping wires and rerouting the power circuit so that several minutes later the lights flicker above your head. Even though the air is cold, you’re so hot and the sweat drips from the tip of your nose making ripples in the water pooling at your feet.   

Keira claps you on the back, the happiness practically rolling off her back in endless waves. You turn to hug her, needing some emotional support after this mentally trying day. 

“What’s the matter?” With her arms still outstretched, Keira watches the look of grief on your face as you make eye contact with something over your shoulder. She pivots on her heels, trying to see what you’re seeing. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s get the fuck on with our lives.” She orders.

 **WE’RE ALL LIARS** iswritten in a rust-colored, congealed liquid. A human tongue nailed to the wall dots the little ‘i’ in liars. 

Taking her outstretched hand, the two of you make your way towards the exit, following her instructions to keep your eyes trained on your feet. 

“Is the maze clear?” Simon’s voice buzzes on the walkie on your hip and because of your current circumstances, you’re slow to answer. “Y/N!”

His tone has you scrambling, heart thumping as you tell him that it is, rambling off a series of directions to where you’re located. 

“We’re coming from the north!”

“Who?

Exchanging a  look of concern with Keira, you anxiously wait for his answer. “Reed—and Lauren!” His voice is slightly distorted.

Before long you can hear his voice and their heavy footsteps thundering down the hallway. Then they slow, becoming muddled by the pipe water. 

“We’re all going to die here! The herd is too thick!” Your immediate reaction is to tell Lauren to put a fucking cork in it, but you’re more concerned about the prior mention of a biter herd.

Simon who’s last to come barreling through the entrance pauses upon entering the bloodied room before ordering, “We need to barricade the entrance. The water’s slowing them down.”

There isn’t much in the room but you take what you can, placing floating debris up against the door and information boards. The sound of rushed footsteps from the adjacent exit is suddenly filled with the familiar sound of footsteps. Seconds later, a panic-stricken Arat passes the threshold followed by Kevin and Negan.

So much for leaving that way.

“What the fuck is happening?” You turn to Arat, leaving Keira with the others. Rushing to barricade the only other entrance to the playroom. 

“We were in the maintenance shaft.” She huffs, thoroughly out of breath. “A fucking door just flew open and they were on our asses!” You rush to assist her in using a bulletin board as a barricade, shrugging with the water that seems gradually higher. 

Across the room, Lauren catches your eye. She seems jittery and broken and for a moment, you’re empathic. You’d been in this situation thousands of times and it was easier for you to keep your head on straight. “We’re all going to die here!” She chants over repeatedly. Her eyes land on the bloodied message scrawled across the wall and you see the very moment that she makes her decision. _Here_ of all places.

That fucking bitch!

“Tell Negan the damn truth, Y/N!” Lauren shouts. “Tell him—or I will! I’m not dying here among liars!”

“The truth? What in the mother- ** _fuck_** is she talking about?” Negan grunts. Eyeballing Lauren in what you hope translates to ‘stay the hell out of this’ you take a deep breath as your heart flies, turning to Negan as you strain to keep a slippery grip. Lauren’s right. You could all die in here and if that’s what it came down to…you didn’t want to take your lies to the grave. But _still_ … 

“Negan…Arat and I…have a very trusting and _open_ relationship.” You start. “A man of your, erm, _stature_ can surely appreciate that—!” 

“Y/N!” 

“Y/N—!”

“For fuck's sake, Y/N!” You’re pretty sure that last one was Simon. 

“Okay, o— _fucking_ —kay!” You shake your head, attempting to clear the fog that has suddenly taken up residence in-between the space of your ears. Trying—in vain—to distance yourself from the people shouting at you and the sound of the dead. A deep breath, a really fucking big one. “Simon and I are in love, Negan.” 

He’s suddenly expressionless, an expression that you know all too well. The calculating and cold look that usually signifies the ‘calm before the storm’. “Arat knew about this..?”

“Kind of,” The door gives a sudden lurch, jolting you to your core, making you consider the importance of this situation, “Arat, Keira, and Simon.” You list. “A little bit of Lauren…I guess? I’m not cheating on Arat. We were never dating…I’m straight, Negan. Well…hold on a second…I think sexuality is kinda fluid. Um, I prefer dick.” Now you’re just rambling. 

“Is _now_ really the fucking time!” Reed shouts.

“Hush, babe! They need this.” Keira stresses.

His pupils flatten to a dark lifeless pitch that makes you regret even looking at Simon, to begin with. It’s that bad. The guilt hurts that much. But maybe it’s also the hurt that flickers behind his irises for a brief moment. “You fucking lied to me? I trusted you...and you were lying this whole time.” He states flatly, quietly. 

“Yes, she fucking lied!” Arat snaps. “But can we move this episode of Dr. Phil to—I don’t know—a time when we’re not on the brink of death!”

“No, I think we should talk about this now!”

“Shut the fuck up, Lauren!” Had you told Keira lately how much you appreciated her? 

“Fuck off, cunt!”

“Don’t talk to my fucking wife like that!” Reed snaps. 

“Hey—!” Simon releases a sharp, shrill whistle that quiets everyone almost immediately. “Now is not the fucking time to fall apart.” He barks. 

“I’d like to say something,” He’s so quiet that you’re sure it’s a figment of your imagination, “if that’s alright.” Kevin continues. 

“Oh, shit! Yeah, Kev, speak up.” Keira looks on in awe. Guess she wasn’t kidding when she said that he didn’t talk much. Even the dead seems to quiet as Kevin surveys the room before his vibrant gray eyes land on you. 

“Coach, I’ve known you for a long time,” A wry smile consumes his features as he looks away, staring off into seemingly nowhere, “maybe too long. And what I’ve come to find...is that you’re the biggest hypocrite that I’ve ever met.” He says it with a slight, knowing smirk.

“You’re a piece of work…sometimes borderline a tyrant.” Arat cuts in, coming to your rescue, you _think_. 

“I think what Rat is trying to say is…” A pointed look. “We love you, Negan. But sometimes you end up hurting the people you love the most.” Keira quietly admits, motioning to the scar on her face. “I forgave you. Can you please just— _forgive_ —at least this one time? For me… _us_ …” She pleads.

Negan looks away, thoroughly ashamed, for a reason far too personal. You almost feel as if you’re invading something intimate. Finally, he nudges your shoulder. “Get us out of this shit alive…and I _might_ not kill you.” You can’t tell whether or not he’s joking, but you’ll fucking take it.

“I might need your help with this.” You respond.

When the others assure you that they can handle the barricades, you and Negan slowly inch towards the plateaued roof of the play farmhouse in the middle of the room. Grabbing your toolbox and a pair of safety gloves in passing from Arat’s tool belt. 

“What are you thinking? I know that look.” You resist the small smile that wants to inch its way upon your face. Of course, he does.

“What happens when you mix water with electricity?” You answer his question with one of your own. Atop the flat roof, you’re elevated even closer towards the bundle of exposed wires that hang precariously. 

“You think it’ll work?”

“Only one way to find out.” Pointing towards where you want him to strike, he rolls his shoulders sending Lucille in a perfect arch, where she goes crashing through several of the pipes. When he’s broken some of the pipes thoroughly in half, you assist him in directing the renewed water flow downward. Subsequently filling the room with more water. 

“I hope you’re fucking sure about this!” Arat huffs, now submerged almost chest deep in water.

“I am!” You shout over the renewed noise of the dead. “I need all of you to let go and head towards the jungle gym! Get to high ground.” You order.

“What about you?” Simon protests looking absolutely torn. Be still you’re slowly breaking heart. 

The roof of the farmhouse is several feet shorter than the other jungle gyms in the play area. But with only you and Negan, it would be easier to avoid the dead.

“On the count of three—let go!” You start counting, giving them no time to protest. Before you even reach three, they let go, all scrambling towards the plastic play sets as biters slowly flood the room. The water is almost chest high by the time you drop the exposed wires into the water. 

The room seems to take a bated breath.

The dead are almost fully submerged by the time the currents begin to take effect, frying them from the inside out. You can’t help but give a little cheer. If it weren’t for your dad insisting on taking you to work each day, you’d surely be dead. 

“How much longer?” Simon shouts.

“Give it a couple of more minutes.” You answer, watching the dead convulse. Not far away, one of the biters gives a particularly violent jerk before a piece of their skull explodes, darkening the already muddled water. 

You meant it. There was nothing left to do but wait. 

From beside you, Negan quietly asks, “Do you…uh, find yourself sitting up straighter?” 

Oh, the irony. A small sniff, which is shortly filed by a tired laugh. “I stand at goddamn attention.” You answer, copying his exact words from several days ago. How did that seem like years before?

He nudges your shoulder, even though he’s faced away from you. 

“Do your thoughts go to him?” He nudges his chin in Simon’s direction, who looks on in concern. If it weren’t for the electrical currents coursing through the body of water that surrounded you, he’d surely come to you. 

“All the time, Negan. He’s the first and last thing I think about each day.” Blinking away the tears in your eye, you put your hand on his shoulder. Hoping that he’ll look at you. “Go on, ask me.”

“Does he make this world less shitty than it already is, doll?” He looks so uncomfortable it’s fucking adorable. You both hate to talk about your feelings, to get sappy. But that’s why your friendship worked. “Does he make you happy?”

“No,” You start heavily. “It’s not just _him_ that makes me happy. He makes up a decent portion of the reason I smile, _yes_. But it’s also because of the other people in my life. The memories of my father and Arat, even Keira in the short amount of time I’ve known her, has managed to make me smile. But I realize that without you…Negan…if you hadn’t found me that day in the junkyard. I’d still be alone and closed off. 

“I owe you everything because without you I wouldn’t have found them. I’m sorry that I lied and I should have just told the fucking truth a long time ago…I know that now. I’m…no better than my mother. But you’re my best friend, Negan. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.” There. You fucking apologized _and_ cried. No one can say you hadn’t tried. 

“You know I think a part of me knew…” He admits after a moment, turning to face you in the dimly lit room.  

Now it’s your turn to be surprised. “How?”

“That night in the kitchen,” He smirks, suddenly. Gaining his usual bravado, he wraps an arm around you with an easy grin. “Pick one, doll. I mean, shit, that first night…your shirt was inside out.” Distantly you hear Simon curse in the background. “Then that other night you found me in the kitchen…you were wearing Simon’s jacket.” He points out, quite smugly.

Well, double shit.

“I’m sorry.” You apologize again, because what else was there left to say.

And then the impossible happens. 

They say miracles are rare, and you’d always been a skeptic. After the world ended, you’d cut ties with all your religious beliefs. But his next three words are enough to restore your faith in the impossible—or at _least_ —the extraterrestrial. 

“I’m sorry, too.” Negan softly, and sincerely apologizes. 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loved writing this story. Thank you for reading. It’s always a bittersweet feeling to finish a story but I’m so proud of what we’ve accomplished. x

**2 months later...**

“Yes, Simon!” Throwing your head back, he takes ownership of the exposed skin. Nipping and biting until your mewling, and squirming all over his impressive cock. Fuck you’d needed this, especially after the day you’d had. “Oh—oh, _fuck_!”

“Good?” He gloats. That smug, beautiful bastard. 

He knows it good. It’s always good. 

“Yes—!” Hissing as he swivels his hips, the feeling of his length further burrowing into your wet walls has your eyes rolling heavenward and your toes curling. “Wait, wait!” Clawing at his back, you beg for mercy.

“What is it, honey? Too much?” He dips his head, taking a nipple gently into his mouth. “So fucking sweet,” He grunts. His hips begin to rock and you have half a mind to tell him to keep going before catching yourself.  

“No,” You hiss, fighting the urge to repel from his ministrations. Your breasts were so sensitive these days. Your once favored act now bordered on almost painful. “I want to be on top.” You finally pout. 

His hips falter and he looks up from your aching breasts to give you a soft smile. Your smile. “As you wish, honey. Where do you want me?”

Biting your lip, you answer, “Our bed, baby. Fuck me on our bed.” 

You know what that answer does to him, it’s the same reaction each time. With a feral growl, he lifts you from where you’d been balancing precariously on the edge of your bathroom counter, urging you to wrap your legs around his trim hips. You stay connected until your back presses against the soft sheets of your bed, pushing him off of your prone frame to climb atop his. 

You and Simon had wasted no time in jumping into just about every aspect of a relationship—moving in together only seemed like the logical thing to do.  Negan had been almost freakishly accommodating, setting you up in a medium-sized flat a floor below him and Ren. Of course, it didn’t hurt that Kevin’s words had softened the blow of your—quite frankly—explosive reveal and aided in your reconciliation.

Not to mention you’d gotten everyone out alive—fucking score!

He watches with thinly veiled amusement, thinking that you’ll be begging for him to take charge only minutes from now. He’s probably right. That smug bastard. 

Theirs this familiar burn, that delicious stretch as your sink down onto the head of his wide cock. Dropping your head back as you sensitive nub finally brushes the coarseness of his pubic hair. Your nails sink into the flesh of his biceps, the muscles there undulate softly beneath your grip, matching the tempo of his hips as he begins to softly rock beneath you. 

He’ll have bruises for sure and that’s how you’ll always want it. 

Nothing has changed. With one touch he can have you quivering and shaking, just like on your very first date. You wonder if sex is always this good for other people. Or do they just settle? Your hips falter in its rhythm and your breath hitches as he finds that _spot_.

You curse, he smiles.

“Oh fuck— _Simon_!” Boneless you collapse onto your forearm, leaving him to take control. He takes possession of your curves, molding you to his frame as he watches your breasts bounce above him. “Harder. I need it harder.” You chant. 

“Harder?” He gives a strained laugh before digging his heels into the sheets of your bed. The new angle has you shouting and cursing above him. “Quiet,” He hisses, digging his fingers deeper into the flesh of your ass. A warning.  “You’re getting fucked. I know that and you know that. Do they need to?”

“I’m sorry. I c-can’t.” You gasp, smothering your cries into the curve of his neck as you convulse around his length. He follows sometime after, releasing into your quivering walls with a muted groan as he presses you closer to his damp chest.  

A moment later, you’re laying in post-coital bliss. Simon’s hands travel to your lower back, your problem area, rubbing firm circles over the knots. You’re practically purring when he asks, “Ready to go to Negan’s dinner party?” 

“Mhmm, in a second. Maybe after round three?”

“I like the way you think, honey.” He purrs, pulling your lips to his in a slow, heated embrace that has you panting. Cupping your hip, he rolls you gently onto your back until he’s above you. Filling the entirety of your vision. He’s all you can see. There’s simply nothing beyond him, there can’t be. 

“I love you.” You sigh, reveling in the feeling of becoming one. Over and over, again.

 

* * *

“Yasss, bitches! The Fab 4 are together at last.” Keira, always one for theatrics, saunters through the front door of Negan and Ren’s newly renovated flat. It’s fully furnished and smells vaguely of paint. You can’t blame the woman for wanting a fresh scenery, especially when Negan’s previous space had been a revolving door for STD’s. Personally, you’d suggested a new couch and lots of bleach. 

“And what’s your excuse for being late?” Ren settles her with a look that could turn a man to stone. It’s a shame that Keira’s one hell of a ball-breaking woman. She brushes it off dramatically, plopping down on a kitchen barstool while Reed wanders off to chat with the other men huddled by the bar. 

“Um, don’t give me that bullshit, Renny. I live like fifty fucking miles away from this godforsaken factory. It’s not like I can call a freakin’ uber.” She fans herself dramatically. “I need wine.”

“No wine!” Reed hollers from across the room, his back turned, it’s freaky how in tune they are. 

“Seems you’ve been redeemed, Y/N.” Ren passes her a glass of water and she pouts for a moment before taking it. “Keira’s taken your place on my shit list.” Right under Negan’s, you bet. You’d give your right tit in a wager that his name was permanently etched in ink on spot numero uno. They had a way of getting under each other’s skin but the dynamic seemed to work for them. 

“Oh, what’s your excuse, Y/N? Seeing as you live one floor below.” Keira sips her water leisurely, her dark eyes twinkling with an untold knowledge. “Simon’s peen hold you longer than expected?”

“It’s the hormones.” You sniff, stirring the packaged gravy on the stove which Ren had deemed your punishment. “Can’t help the fact that my baby daddy is fuck hot.”

“At that rate,” She points out, “you’ll be pregnant before the first one is two.” 

Pregnancy has definitely been an _experience._ Especially, at the two months mark. On the bright side, once you’d stopped puking your guts out, you and Simon had been able to reap the benefits of your hyper horniness. Ever seen two bunnies going at it? Well picture that, but add _RedBull_ to the mix. 

Still…

With a grimace, you make a fist, demonstrating the baby’s head size from your latest ultrasound. “That kid has Simon’s big head. I refuse to push out any more of those ankle biters than absolutely necessary. At this rate, my vaginé will divorce me.”

“Who told you to go and get knocked up?” Arat snatches the carrot that you’d been munching on from your hand, dipping it in some hummus. She’s single, but happily so. 

Moral of the story, kids? Threatening your girlfriend’s best friend and outing your faux lesbian relationship will get you nowhere.

“I’ll have you know, he pulled out.” Pursuing your lips, you consider all the questionable moments and blank gaps in your memory. You really did have to stop mixing whiskey and sex, otherwise, you’d end up popping out _The Brady Bunch_. 

“Barely,” Ren coughs into her drink.

“Everyone here?” Negan claps his hands together greedily, surveying the room. “Time to fucking eat!”

Apparently, Ren made fried chicken that was simply to die for. Negan had been chatting your ear off about this dinner party for weeks. As if you’d miss the opportunity for free, well-seasoned food. The McCormick mission would forever go down in the books as one of the Savior’s must successful pillage. It’d boosted morale and Negan had gotten to expand his empire. He’d quite literally gotten his cake, and eaten it too. 

You end up carrying a large dish of buttery mashed potatoes to the large dining room table, before taking a seat between Kevin and Simon. A more than generous portion of vegetables is placed on your plate, followed by a buttered roll. Good sex and he knew how to feed you, too. If you ever married Simon, your vows would pretty much write themselves.  

“I hope they’ll be enough food to go around.” Negan ribs, good-naturedly. Watching as you take two pieces of chicken from the serving dish. 

“Stick it up the ass, Negan.” You retort. 

With a roll of his shoulders, he reaches for a wing, tossing out casually. “Seems like Simon’s already got that covered.”

You freeze, mid-chew. “You told him!” You shriek, directing your sharp gaze towards a suddenly sheepish Simon. 

“Ren, have you ever heard of revenge pegging?” Keira offers.

Ren gives Negan a vindictive smile before declaring, “Negan, I’m pregnant, too. I was going to tell you later but since you’re hellbent on antagonizing Y/N—chew on that.” She quips. 

He spits out his drink, “What the fuck, _how_?”

Too fucking easy. More than half the people around the table fall over themselves to get in a crack at Negan’s expense.

“Our kids are going to be best friends.” Keira cackles with glee. “And no more pregnancy jokes, Negan! We mean it.”

“What the hell is in the water?” Arat grumbles looking nonplussed with a large chicken leg in hand. She munches on it thoughtfully as she regards each and every one of the pregnant women around the table. “Ever heard of pulling out?”

From beside you, Kevin quietly admits, “I love our family.” 

Family.

These crazy, fucked-up individuals were your family. You find yourself rubbing your tiny bump. Your baby’s family. 

Kevin stands, grabbing everyone's attention with his quiet, yet loud presence. You really did owe him a fruit basket. What was an appropriate gift for saving one’s ass with some profound truth delivered at an opportune time? “A toast—to little white lies,” He gives you a small smirk that makes your heart clench in the best way. You squeeze Simon’s hand with your own, the tears come but for once you aren’t ashamed to let them fall, “and even bigger truths.”

You lift a glass with the other’s, catching Simon’s gaze out of the corner of your eye, joining is an everyone lifts their glass and gives a general cheer of agreement. You’d come a long way from where’d you began.

“To bigger truths.” You mouth, catching Arat’s gaze. 

You weren’t afraid of the truth—not anymore. If anything, you owed it. 

It had given you everything you could ever need. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a special announcement on my Tumblr last night. You should totally check out my latest post. You won't be sorry. x
> 
> My Tumblr: https://negansaysyouearnwhatyoutake.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think. Reviews make me write quicker and kudos make my day.
> 
> Okay, mwah x


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